Break Statement
by winterhorses
Summary: Hunger, food, failure, binge, purge. Repeat. A routine that becomes a life that becomes an infinite loop with no imaginable end, with no way to break free. Except one. It's a foregone conclusion for her, a matter of time, a question of when. She's ready for it to be now. A green-eyed stranger is the only thing that stands between her and the escape she longs for.
1. Chapter 1 - Not Today

**Chapter 1 - Not Today**

* * *

_Feb. 1, 2015 – I've got to stop this shit. It's pathetic. Disgusting. Weak. _I'm_ pathetic._

_Feb. 3, 2015 – Twice today. I can't keep doing this._

_Feb. 7, 2015 – who cares. i don't care. not anymore. i deserve it. it's my fault._

_Feb. 9, 2015 – I'm not going to. Not again. I ate half a chicken breast and a cup of broccoli. That's it. I'm almost there. I can do this. I won't have any more. Today, I'm going to make it. Today, I'm going to_

Black slanted lines blur and shiver on a crisp sheet of white that holds so much promise. If I can just finish the sentence, I'll be okay. Subject, verb. If I can just form a few more tentative lines and wavering loops, I'll be okay. Make two stiff pieces of cardboard meet, bury the journal with a lumpy pillow, close my eyes, sleep.

If this day will end, I'll be okay.

But I'm not okay now. My hand trembles as I try to join the tip of a fat ergonomic ballpoint pen with its designated target. I feel cool tingles of numbness in my fingers while they struggle to maintain their grip. The pen clatters when it falls onto the paper. It mocks me with a few lazy spins, a compass needle searching for direction. I'm desperate to see the course it chooses, but my body won't allow it. I sway unsteadily in my seat as my vision fades in and out.

Damn.

I knew this would happen when I gave into the repugnant need to eat. I couldn't have put it off much longer: I was too hungry and faint. The meager dinner I consumed, however, did little more than remind my digestive system that it had a purpose after all. Saliva trickles down my throat, enzymes and hydrochloric acid gurgle plaintively, stomach walls stretch as they continue their endless warmup sets.

After three hours of patient expectation, my body has given up the hope of a voluntary action. A message is sent in no uncertain terms that it requires sustenance.

I pray that another yogurt container filled with its carefully measured amount of broccoli will be enough, but it isn't. I decide to eat the rest of the chicken and make another attempt at completing my journal entry. Surely, one breast of chicken and two cups of steamed broccoli is a reasonable meal.

But after choking down the last bite of chicken, I can't force my legs to take me from the kitchen. The gummy lumps of disgust and loathing thump heavily against the sides of my slowly churning stomach as it tries to glean life from the sacrificial offering while it has the chance.

If I'm lucky, the tortoise's steady pace won't fail, and it'll be able to eke out a draw at the finish line. The gallant contender hasn't lost a race yet, but I know it's only a matter of time.

I sink to the linoleum-covered floor with a dry laugh and wait for the hare to catch up. It sprints along the folding pathways of my brain, no hindrances or resistance in its course. I know from hundreds, perhaps thousands, of similar failed attempts that I'm powerless to stop its advance.

The cycle has begun once more.

* * *

**Short story with short chapters. Probably. **


	2. Chapter 2 - The Worst Kind of Hedonism

**Chapter 2: The Worst Kind of Hedonism**

* * *

Having a "successful" purging session isn't always as easy and simple as emptying a stomach of its contents. It can be so much more than that: a gamble, a test of experience, a release, a science…a penance.

In an ideal situation—if one can consider anything about the situation ideal—everything deposited into the stomach is retrieved. Usually, this liberation is triggered by stimulation applied to the back of the throat. For some fortunate individuals who were born with a particularly responsive gag reflex or have developed the skill, purging can be done without the use of an external object. Those people don't flaunt raw and blistered knuckles like I do.

But first, in order to purge, there must be something _to _purge.

I crawl to the bathroom through the carnage of my defeat—candy bar wrappers, a crushed donut box, sticky ice cream spatter, empty plastic containers signifying a week's worth of healthy pre-portioned meals. A lone survivor huddles fearfully under ripped cellophane, hoping to delay its destiny for one more day.

I see the resigned soldier—that tiny moment of hollow pleasure tucked inside shiny foil, my nugget of fool's gold. Even as my hand inevitably reaches out, I'm weighing the decision. Ferrero Rocher is a dangerous nemesis; chocolate, once it has penetrated its foes' defenses, likes to entrench and lay root. It will not be removed effortlessly, no matter the method or strategy.

But I am a battle-worn veteran who has sized up the tactical picture. I can literally feel the carcasses of the vanquished in my throat, they've piled up to the top of my esophagus, their heavy bulk pushing outward into my trachea. The blood of one more victim may seep past the entanglement of bodies, but it won't trickle to the bottom of the pit in time.

The answer seems clear, but it was never a question in the first place.

I rip the fancy trappings from the delicate prize with irreverent fervor and toss them aside. The instant its flavor touches my tongue, a fleeting explosion of emotion assaults me. I'm high off the relief of doing the dirty deed. All day long, I berated and shamed and loathed my will into submission. I maintained a tight leash on my hunger and other such base desires. This is my relief—it's me letting go. It's a reward. A guilty pleasure. A declaration. It's my big "fuck you" to control, stress, perfection, and skinny jeans that will never fit my thunder thighs and bubble butt.

It's due process. An extra ten thousand calories of lard as just desserts for an unattractive, incompetent pariah.

It's self destruction.

And it feels good.


	3. Chapter 3 - Model Life

**Chapter 3 - Model Life**

She wears a charcoal-colored pencil skirt with a white blouse today. The heels on her black patent pumps are three inches—enough to give her some height without being inappropriate for the workplace. A delicate silver chain encircles her neck, and tasteful matching earrings complete the outfit. To me, she looks like someone who belongs in this conference room—as if she was sketched into the design plans along with the dark cherry conference table and black leather executive chairs.

"We're ahead of schedule in the software development phase and will transition into the design verification stage on Monday. A group of Navy reservists familiar with Modeling &amp; Simulation will serve as end users during black-box testing*."

She clicks on a slim black rectangle in her hand—the magic wand through which her creation can be manipulated—and the next slide of the PowerPoint presentation appears on screen.

"With subsequent target dates moved to the left, you can see that we'll be ready and well-prepared for the commencement date of Exercise SeaStar."

Her voice matches her posture—strong and confident. She holds the respect of everyone in the conference room: three senior military personnel and four upper-level civilians, all of them men. I know this has as much to do with her impressive background as it does her ceaseless demonstration of competency. She graduated from MIT, where she coauthored a Machtey Award-winning student paper, and went on to receive an MBA from Harvard Business School. She could have worked at any of the top corporations in the U.S. but choose as her employer a mid-sized company who did contract work for the military.

The staff members nod their heads at her statement and attempt to justify their paygrades with prodigiously-worded comments and cavillous questions. She fields them with ease. If five was the first digit of her age instead of three, they'd be reporting to her and not the other way around.

When the briefing concludes, she disconnects her laptop from the lectern and packs it in her messenger bag. One of the admirals pauses by her side as the rest of the group files out of the conference room.

"Another excellent presentation, my dear. You have this well under control."

"Thank you, sir."

"We're not in an official setting now. Call me Mark." The slung-back shoulders of his military bearing relax and he touches two fingers to her elbow. "A few of the other staff and I are going out to lunch now. We'd love for you to join us."

Her body tenses minutely before a lipstick-painted mouth forms a rejection.

"Thanks for the invitation, but I have a lot of work to do," she says with a smile. "The development team will be waiting for a debrief."

"Oh, come on," he protests. "You just showed us how far ahead your people are. I'm sure they can benefit from a breather, same as you. We're only going to Ruby Tuesday. It won't take long and then you can get back to cracking the whip over your minions."

He laughs, but there's an undercurrent in his tone that conveys expectancy of her compliance.

"Alright, I need to put my things away. I'll meet you there."

His weathered face lights up in a grin of triumph. With a nod to acknowledge her correct response, he turns and strides to the door.

She doesn't have the luxury of walking as slowly as he does. Her heels click-clack on the polished floor in rapid tempo on the way to her office, located in the M&amp;S* wing of the building. There's a convenient bathroom just off the main passageway, so she stops to relieve herself of the three diet sodas that served as breakfast.

As always, I critique her appearance when she approaches the bathroom mirror. Shoulder-length brown hair clipped back in a tidy ponytail, hazelnut-colored eyes set wide apart, straight nose, rouged cheeks, full lips. The self-assured face of a capable, experienced professional.

I get lost in the reflection of those brown eyes, amazed by the person in front of me. Why did fate decide to bestow her with intelligence, work ethic, and motivation? How did she get so lucky? It seems the world is her oyster.

I can hardly believe that she is me.

I want so much to be her.

* * *

***black-box testing****: software testing technique whereby the internal workings of the item being tested are not known by the tester. For example, in a black box test on a software design the tester only knows the inputs and what the expected outcomes should be and not how the program arrives at those outputs. (Webopedia)**

***M&amp;S: Modeling &amp; Simulation**


	4. Chapter 4 - Binary

**Chapter 4 - Binary**

* * *

On, off. Yes, no. Do, do not.

Always one or the other, no in between.

That's me. I hate shades of gray.

I'm "on" now, my mind in its element as bubbles of discussion volley across the table. I smile, laugh, answer questions, make thoughtful remarks. They need to like me, to think I'm the best. I _am_ the best.

But once I leave the table for the salad bar, insecurity creeps in. Every word uttered aloud is replayed and analyzed. Did I say anything that sounded unintelligent? Accidentally offend someone? Even worse—could I been wrong at any point?

Preoccupied by this scrutiny, I blindly reach out to take a new salad plate. Instead of ceramic, my hand makes contact with something else—another hand. My courteous façade snaps back into place immediately. The incompetent wizard takes his place behind the curtain to put on a show of smoke and mirrors.

"Sorry about that," I say brightly. "Please, after you."

"Nope, I don't think so. Not yet."

My gaze travels up a tanned arm, over a khaki uniform shirt collar bearing the rank of Lieutenant Commander, and into a startling handsome face with the clearest green eyes I've ever seen. They aren't a deep green—their hue is closer to pale sea glass with a suggestion of blue. What strikes me, however, is the uniformity of color throughout, with the exception of darker green rims around the edges and pupils.

They're mesmerizing.

So much so that the man's comment takes a few seconds to register fully.

"What do you mean, not yet?" I ask, taking a step away from the stack of plates and crossing my arms.

"You have to pay the penalty first." One corner of his mouth is quirked up in the suggestion of a smirk.

"Alright, I'm listening" is my cautious response.

"If you want my forgiveness, you have to tell me a joke."

I consider his words with trepidation. Having been subjected to a fair level of contempt for my academic achievements during grade school years, I'm wary when obviously attractive people are friendly to me for no apparent reason. But the need to please others overrules caution. A glance over the shoulder shows my table engrossed in conversation, seemingly oblivious to my prolonged absence, so I offer up a variation on one of the few jokes I know.

"Three naval officers walk into a bar. The fourth one ducks. The end, and now I'm going to get my salad."

I step in front of him to take a plate without waiting for his reaction. There's no point.

Moving with purpose, I'm halfway down the line when he sidles up to me again.

"Knock, knock."

"Who's there?" I intone as courteously as possible while continuing to pile cucumbers on top of my lettuce.

"Euripides."

"Euripides who?"

"Euripides pants-a, you pay for dese pants-a."

I spare him another glance, this one disdainful, my brow resembling that of a Shar Pei's.

"Wow. That may've been the worst Italian accent I've ever heard."

He chuckles good-naturedly. "I guess it's my turn to say sorry now. I'm Edward, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Edward. Have a good afternoon." I click-clack away before he can say anything further.

Perhaps he was flirting with me, maybe he was simply an outgoing person. It's irrelevant. I'm not enough for a person like him. Not attractive enough, not skinny enough, not sociable enough. Not perfect.

I won't look for hope where there is none.

On, off. Yes, no. Do, do not.

I do not.


	5. Chapter 5 - To Be Loved

**Chapter 5 - To Be Loved**

***Warning - Mild references to unwilling restraint and sexual assault**

* * *

-Seven years ago-

_May 20, 2008_

_Okay, Day 0 of being on my own...again. Am I serious about it this time? I don't know what to do. I love him, but I know I can't live like this. He won't change. I won't change while in this. But right now, I want to go to his room and crawl into bed with him. I know he'd take me back, and we'd start on another cycle._

_Geez, Bella, it's obvious in this journal. You've spent your whole life looking for someone to love you and need you. No wonder you can't leave him! Jake truly is a good guy. But he's just too passionate, too dependent. He needs too much control._

_I feel like no one loves me except him. I know, it's my own fault. People don't love you just for the hell of it. There isn't anyone out there that loves you for who you are, no matter what. But maybe he comes closest? God, I am so confused! No one has EVER done the sweet things for me that he has…no! Remember the cheating, the possessiveness, the fighting, the guilt trips…NO._

* * *

-Present day—

_Feb. 13, 2015_

_Looking back, I can now see that I was in an abusive relationship. I _voluntarily_ stayed in an abusive relationship._

_I always thought those kind of people were stupid and weak. Honestly, I guess I still do. I'm ashamed at how pathetic I was with him. I kept going back, over and over. I wanted to be loved. I needed to be loved. And I think Jake did love me, in his own screwed up way. I certainly wasn't perfect. Even as graduate students, we were still stupid kids, trying to make a toxic relationship work._

_He never frightened me though. Not really. I mean, he never hit me, and I never felt like I was in physical danger. But...those times that we'd fight, and I'd need to get away, to clear my head, and he'd stop me from going, holding me down, pinning my arms and legs, making me feel like a trapped animal…he was so much stronger that I was…_

_And then those few times I wasn't in the mood for having sex, but he made me…but I ended up enjoying it…and didn't know how to feel about it afterward…_

_There were times I hated him just as much as I loved him. And I _know_ it's completely insane, but there's a part of me that still feels that way. We were so similar, so alike._

_He says he's changed, he's realized he had problems, he's gotten help. People can change, right? And the good times we had together were some of the best of my life. We had just as many good as bad, maybe more. When we weren't fighting, I was so happy. I want to be happy again. I want to feel loved again. I'm tired of being alone. Alone and scared that I'll spend the rest of my life this way._

_Isn't it worth finding out if he really is different? Or am I just being stupid and weak again?_

_I guess I'll find out over dinner tonight…_


	6. Chapter 6 - Static

**Chapter 6 - Static**

* * *

Jacob Black is just as handsome as I remember—perhaps more so—with his thick black hair brushing the middle of his forehead, intense brown eyes that sparkle when he laughs, and a well-muscled physique that demands appreciation despite being sheathed in a button-down shirt and pressed slacks. Time has been nothing but kind to him, replacing slightly rounded cheeks and sparse facial hair with masculine definition and enticing stubble.

"Aw, come on, Bells, don't tell me you forgot about that street performer in Barcelona! The half-naked one who juggled flaming knives while on a tight rope?" His fingers reach across the table to graze the top of my hand.

"Oh, right!" I giggle. "That was hilarious! When those four girls walked by…"

"…wearing their postage stamp string bikini tops…" Jake continues.

"…he lost his balance and fell off..."

"...and then his hair…"

"…caught on fire!" we finish together.

I take a sip of my wine after our laughter eases. The entire meal has been like this—nostalgic and light-hearted. There's no shortage of compliments from either of us, and I feel warmly comfortable in his presence. He knows me more intimately than anyone else, better than my own parents. For two years, we turned each other inside out and endured the beautiful with the ugly. Everything that I had, everything that I was, I shared with him.

"You know, I just can't get over how good you look," Jake remarks. "It's like you haven't changed at all."

"That's because I'm wearing twelve layers of makeup and Spanx," I scoff. "Trust me, it's all been downhill."

"Well, you look the same to me. Actually, no, you seem a lot thinner than I remember."

The cold fist of dread closes around my heart at the mention of weight. My eating disorder is the one dirty secret I've kept hidden from him. The sickness hadn't been as severe when we were dating, and I disguised it well.

"I worked out a lot after leaving Boston and lost about 25 pounds. But I've gained half of it back since then." My head droops in shame as the whispered confession hangs in the air around me like thick, choking smog.

Jake frowns. "That's not a bad thing, Bells. I'm serious. You look hot." He slides his chair around and leans in close to my ear. "Besides, you know how much I loved grabbing that round, beautiful ass of yours as I pounded your tight pussy."

My gasp is like the whoosh of fuel from a burner as desire ignites between my legs. It's been years since I've felt this stirring and wanted to act on it. One poorly conjured reason or another always sabotaged any chance for a relationship, or even just casual sex, but this...this is _Jake_. He's already seen my stretch marks and scars and soft belly. It won't matter to him that my breasts hang lower now or that my skin has lost some of its former firmness. I'll always be beautiful in his eyes. I've never doubted that.

There's no reason to let this opportunity pass by. He's only staying in town for a couple of days, so I can sidestep the worry of lining up for another turbulent roller coaster ride.

I steady a hooded gaze on his expectant face. "Do you wanna go up to your room?" I murmur, my heart beating in my throat.

He sits back in his chair and flashes a dimpled smile. "Let me get the bill sent over."

Jake glances around for one of the hotel restaurant wait staff, but none are immediately accessible. With a seductive twitch of his dark eyebrows, he rises to his feet to hunt one down.

Some wine remains in my glass, and for want of something to do, I curl my fingers around the stem and drain the contents in one long pull. I can already feel the tingling effects from the rest of the serving. Lettuce and vegetables do little to absorb alcohol.

"So, a piece of rope walks into a bar…"

It's fortunate that no liquid remains in my glass, or it would have spilled down my dress as I twist toward the familiar voice, toward the beautiful face, with its translucent, sea glass green eyes.

"He orders a beer, but the bartender says, 'Sorry, we don't serve rope here.'

"Undaunted, the piece of rope goes to the bathroom, ties himself in a loop and musses the top of his hair. He walks back up to the bar and orders a beer.

"The bartender says, 'Hey, aren't you that piece of rope?'

"The rope says, 'No, I'm a frayed knot.'"

Despite myself, I let out an amused groan. "Where do you get these terrible jokes?"

A dashing smile spreads over his face as he shrugs. He's about to respond when Jake returns to the table.

"Bella?" Jake asks, placing his hand on my shoulder, obviously staking his claim.

Everyone else is standing, so I rise to my feet, as well. The hand slides down my arm and settles around my hip.

"Jake, this is, um, Edward. He's, uh…" I falter, not knowing how to describe our non-acquaintance.

Edward extends his hand to Jake. "I'm assigned to the Navy Reserve component of Joint Force Development."

My eyes widen in astonishment; apparently, he and I work together. I wonder if…

"How do you know Bella?" Jake inquires, clasping Edward's outstretched hand.

I can identify the hidden edge in his voice. It's subtle, barely audible, but I've heard it many times before.

"I don't." Edward's tone is casual, easy. "We bumped into each other yesterday—literally and accidentally. I was surprised to see her here."

Something catches his eye, and he holds out his arm to a tall blond woman approaching us.

"Well, my dinner date's here, so I'll let you two be." He nods to Jake and me. "Jake, nice meeting you. Bella, good seeing you again. I hope you both have a wonderful evening."

The pretty blonde smiles politely at us and then accompanies Edward to a ready table.

Jake gathers my attention with a hand on the small of my back.

"Are you ready?"

He guides me out of the restaurant and to the elevator. Palatable tension rolls off his body and saturates the atmosphere of the elevator car.

"What's wrong, Jake? Are you okay?"

I'm not sure why I'm asking: I know exactly what's caused his declining mood.

He doesn't say anything as the doors open onto his floor and he exits the elevator. I hesitate for a moment and then walk briskly to catch up.

"Listen, Jake, if you're going to be all pissy about a stranger saying hello to me, then I'm leaving. I'm not dealing with that shit again. You said you changed."

He remains silent, pausing in front of a door and slipping a card key into the reader. I stop short and put my hands on my hips.

"Jake, you'd better talk to me, or else—"

A large hand arcs forward and clamps around my upper arm. His fingers dig into bare flesh. My startled gasp is lost in the sound of the heavy door swinging shut after he yanks me into the room.

"You bet your ass we're going to talk. Sit."

He releases me near the bed, but instead of taking a seat, I roll over the mattress and onto the floor on the other side. The king-sized piece of furniture becomes my line of demarcation.

Jake stares, a wry yet sad smile on his face. He holds up his hands in the imitation of a non-threatening gesture.

"I'm sorry, Bells. I didn't mean to get upset just then. But I do want to talk."

He takes a step near me, and I rise up on the balls of me feet, ready to dive back across the bed. My muscles tremble in preparation, waiting to fight, preferring to take flight. And yet, in spite of my apprehension and anxiety, I have the macabre desire to mirror Jake's sardonic grin. This scene feels so familiar…and it should. It's one that has played out a dozen times before.

Jake was wrong, and I _was_ stupid to think he had changed. It's obvious that I'm the same foolish, weak creature that I always was.

The scene might as well be eight years ago, back in our grad school residence hall. Despite the passage of time, a change in the venue, our supposed character development, nothing about this tragic performance is different at all. It never is.

* * *

**Thank you so much for following along. I apologize for the lack of my usual A/Ns. I find it difficult to transition out of the story's mindset right away, but I do appreciate each and every review.**


	7. Chapter 7 - End of the Line

**Chapter 7 - End of the Line**

* * *

I move, he moves.

Push, pull. Give, take.

I'm not giving in again. Not again.

"Jake, what the hell do you think you're doing?" My gaze darts between his face and the door behind him.

"Just calm down, alright? All I want to do is talk, see if we can work things out."

"Are you crazy? There's nothing to work out. I don't want to spend another second with you. Get away from the door so I can leave."

"Don't do this, Baby Bell," he pleads, using his favorite pet name. "I've been miserable without you these past years. Life just hasn't made as much sense as it did were together. I've looked all over for that same feeling, but it's only you. It's only ever been you. I _need_ you.

"Think of all the great times we had—like the ones we talked about over dinner. We could have that again. Yeah, there were some rough spots, but that's every relationship. This time around, we would be better. We'd—"

"No, we won't," I interrupt harshly. "Because there isn't going to be another 'time around' for us. Ever. In fact, I don't want you to contact me anymore. Tonight was a mistake, and I want to leave."

Jake's jaw slackens as desperation as panic detonates in his eyes and mushrooms outward. His arms stretch into the space between us as if reaching for a lifeline. Reaching for a last hope.

"Don't do this to me! I can't live without you. _Please, _Baby Bell. You're my soulmate. We belong together. I love you so much. Don't you care about me?"

The familiar burrs of guilt and obligation prick at the base of my skull, at the shell of my heart.

"I do, but—"

"Then give me another chance! We can start over. Talk on the phone, Skype each other for a while…I'll look into transferring my job down here, and meanwhile, I can take a flight every other weekend or so…"

"Stop it!" I fling my hands in the air as if to wave off the cloying incense of his fantasy. "I don't want to be with you again. I will _never_ want to be with you again. We're over, and so is this conversation. Move the fuck out of my way, or I'm going to call the police." Without taking my eyes off him, I reach into my bag and pull out my phone.

"No, please…don't…" Tears spill out of frantic eyes as he falls to his knees and clasps his hands together in supplication. "I_ love_ you, Baby Bell. Don't leave me again. I'll do whatever you want. Anything, just…_please_."

My heart aches at the hopelessness in his voice. It resonates with my soul and threatens to shake loose my resolve. I don't want to cause him more pain; I don't want to be responsible for deepening an anguish I know is impossible to bear. If I could lessen that torment for him, act as a balm for his weary spirit…maybe if he'll agree to a tentative friendship, nothing romantic…maybe I could try…

No. Not again.

"Move out of my way, right now, or I'm making the call."

"Bella, no…"

He leaps to his feet and dives for a gym bag on a nearby couch. Stunned frozen by the sudden movement, I watch in shock as he yanks a folding knife out of a compartment and opens it over his wrist.

"I can't live without you! Please, please…please…"

"Jake, what are you doing?" I rasp, afraid for the first time. "Put the knife down, for god's sake. Put it down, and we can…talk…"

He's staring at me, but his eyes are glazed and unfocused. I drop a surreptitious glance down to my phone and unlock the screen. The displays lights up, then turns black. It's shutting down. The battery has run too low.

My devastated gasp is lost in the monotone chant of Jake's pleas.

I have no choice. I swallow and try to quell my terror.

"Hold on for a sec. Just...hold on," I say in the most soothing voice I can manage. "You know, I think you might be right about us. Maybe I should…give our relationship another chance."

Wide pupils constrict within dark brown eyes. He's listening to me.

"Why don't we sit down on the couch and talk? That's what you wanted to do, right?"

At his slow nod, I take step forward.

"Great! Now come on, let's have a seat. Oh, and can you do me a favor by putting the knife away? It's making me really nervous."

Another slow nod. He closes the blade into the handle and sets it on the coffee table.

The moment steel meets wood, I release the pent-up tension in my muscles and make a dash toward the door. I'm hoping the element of surprise will earn me those few seconds crucial to my escape.

"Bella!"

My name is sputtered out as a crash sounds behind me. He's coming.

I'm almost at the door, but there's no way to get it open before he catches up. Flight is no longer an option. It's time to fight.

My mind is made up.

Letting out a piercing scream, I spin around and hurl my dead phone into the face of a man I once loved.


	8. Chapter 8 - Priorities

**Chapter 8 - Priorities**

* * *

Words leave my mouth. My head moves up and down, side to side. Scrawling lines are drawn beside an "X" on the report.

But I'm not thinking about those actions.

There are police and EMTs and hotel staff milling about. On the other side of the conference room door, Jake is escorted outside by two law enforcement personnel. Purple has begun to blossom around the large welt under his swollen eye.

But I'm not thinking about the events that led to that injury, or the aftermath.

Only one thing motivates me, turns over in my mind, consumes my thoughts.

"Ms. Swan, are you sure you don't want to press charges?"

The young officer's gaze settles on the evidence of my bad judgment: a large red handprint curled around my upper arm.

"I'm positive," I quickly reaffirm. "I just want him to get help. That's the important thing." My leg bounces anxiously. "Is there anything else you need, or can I go?"

"We're finished, but…is there someone who can drive you home, maybe a friend or relative? It's been a stressful evening, and after your earlier dizzy spell…" He frowns in concern.

"I'm fine now, really. It was just a small delayed reaction to what happened, but I feel much better. The, um, food helped a lot."

I focus a weak smile on him and stand from my chair, being careful to avoid looking at the empty plate and glass sitting on the table. We shake hands, and as soon as it's socially correct to do so, I hurry out of the room.

There's another conference room located at the back of the hotel, and this late in the evening, it's sure to be deserted. When I rush into the room's adjoining lavatory and realize it is indeed empty, I heave a sigh of relief.

Finally.

It's one of the most disgusting forms of self-loathing—pushing your head into a basin designed to hold excrement and regurgitating partially masticated food, saliva, stomach acid, and—if one is fortunate—liver bile. The taste of that acrid fluid is a welcome signal that the stomach may be near empty, the optimal state.

That goal isn't as easy to achieve as one might think. Over time, ingesting massive quantity of food causes the stomach walls to stretch, making it more difficult to expel all its contents. I've read that, on average, fifty percent of calories consumed during a binge remain in the body, despite purging attempts. It's one of the reasons bulimia has been called "an invisible eating disorder." Those afflicted come in all shapes and sizes. In fact, often times, weight is gained, not lost.

Tonight, it seems the apple juice and croissant that I ate will become weight gained.

Again and again, I force my fingers down my throat, almost to the point of choking on them, but all I manage to produce for those efforts are harsh gagging noises and watery eyes. My stomach muscles are too distended to have any effect on such a small quantity, and too much time has passed since it traveled down my esophagus. I should have excused myself earlier and taken a chance in the lobby restroom.

No, I never should have let them talk me into eating in the first place. Yes, my limbs were shaking, and my body was swaying. Yes, my stomach growled, and my words slurred. But whatever might have happened has got to be better than this degrading scene.

My throat is burning and raw when I finally concede defeat and exit the stall, but the taste of failure is even more bitter. Of everything I've experienced tonight—Jake's entreaties, the knife over his wrist, my sprint for freedom, his confusion after being hit with the phone, the fortunate timing of the elevator to ensure my escape—none of that concerns me as much as juice and pastry making their way into a small intestine.

I rinse out my mouth and stare at my peaked reflection in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes are rimmed with red and purple specks—the force of my vomiting attempts has caused the bursting of tiny capillaries there. My cheeks are swollen, and chapped lips complete the shameful picture. I don't know whether to cry out in despair or laugh at the absurdity of it all.

My choice is to sear the image into my memory. This is the real me—this is who I've become, what I've reduced myself to. I hate it.

Something's got to give. I can't keep falling down this dark hole forever. Either I reach out, stop my descent, and try once more to claw my way back up, or the unforgiving ground will smash me to bits.

There's a third choice, an option to forever end my suffering, but I don't know if I'm brave enough for that. I've thought about it so many times…I crave the thought of silencing that disparaging voice in my head, but…

No. I can't. I won't give up hope.

I won't.

I'm going to try once more. I'm going to extend my arms, curl my fingers, and pray that they have enough strength to latch on to something solid.

I'll reach out for help. I'll try again.

I will.


	9. Chapter 9 - Reserve Judgment

**Chapter 9 - Reserve Judgment**

"Hey Ben, did you know that U.S. destroyer positions aren't showing on the South Korean WHIP* screen? Are they being sent out with the area reports?"

The black-haired computer engineer pushes his glasses up his nose as he leans closer to one of his three computer screens.

"Are you serious? Shit, I thought Tyler had fixed that bug. Alright, I got it FORAC*."

"Thanks. If you need anything for the next hour, I'll be in Bay 11 meeting with the reservists."

Already deep inside lines of code, Ben just barely dips his head to acknowledge.

My pace to the designated simulation room is brisk, much like all my actions have been today. No matter how flawless a program works at the end of the development stage, unforeseen glitches unfailingly appear when software validation begins. I'm confident my team will be ready to go by tomorrow, but there's still the sense of urgency that only an upcoming deadline can produce.

And I love it.

Design and programming are interesting in of themselves, but I prefer the management aspect of software development. Though the inclination may seem odd for a Myers-Briggs Introvert, I'm drawn to the specific challenges inherent in positions of leadership. There's something about problem-solving on a macro level that fills me with both purpose and excitement.

I also enjoy public speaking, which is another personality contradiction. My self-consciousness knows no bounds, yet I willingly command center stage during presentations. Perhaps my need for external validation outweighs my fear of judgment. Or maybe I'm a masochist. Probably both.

The in-brief I'm about to give is an overview for the group of four Navy reservists acting as end users for an updated maritime warfare simulation module. They'll assume the roles of various commanders within the Navy chain of command and make decisions based on the war game scenario we provide. The goal is to run a variety of simulations and discover as many bugs and malfunctions as possible before the module is used for Exercise SeaStar next week.

Bay 11 is where testing will take place. The Navy officers are here for their required two weeks of annual Reserve duty. This will be my first time working with reservists; I had previously interacted with either active duty personnel or those who had retired and become government contractors.

There are several doors to Bay 11, and I choose to enter through one in the back. This way, I have a second or two before all eyes are on me. A lot can be discerned in those few moments, and I see that the group is all male—one rather portly, two averaged-sized, and one very trim. The latter is the only man to have a full head of hair, and it is a surprisingly vibrant shade. A vibrant, _familiar_ shade.

Four bodies turn in their chairs. I'm only aware of one, however, and it features neatly trimmed locks of bronze and clear green eyes. During the brief encounter at the hotel restaurant, I'd wondered if he was part of the contingent. Now that my suspicions have been confirmed, I'm not sure how I feel about it.

It seems that Edward has some feelings on the matter, however. After a flicker of surprise crosses his face, he frowns and then raises his eyebrows as if waiting for me to answer an obvious question. The reason for his expression eludes me, and regardless, this isn't the appropriate setting for anything other than our work purpose.

I give an information packet to each officer. Edward tries to catch my eye again, but I focus on the task at hand.

"Good afternoon, sirs. I'm Isabella Swan, a Senior Project Manager with RA Corporation…"

I complete my introduction and then formally meet the members of the Reserve team: Captain (CAPT) Hugh Bishop, Commander (CDR) Richard Llewellyn, Commander Seth Clearwater, and one Lieutenant Commander (LCDR) Edward Cullen. At first, I find it strange that he's assigned to the group given his more junior rank but discover he had earned a coveted billet as the commanding officer of coastal patrol ship.

Being the senior-most officer in the room, CAPT Bishop receives the majority of my attention during the in-brief. Still, I find my gaze often settling on Edward. His demeanor fascinates me. There's a certain ease about him, a sense of cool confidence that could almost come across as cocky…but somehow doesn't. He spends the majority of my presentation leaning back in his seat with one long leg crossed over the other, ankle resting on knee—a picture of relaxed composure, yet with perceptive eyes that miss nothing.

Thankfully, I'm able to disseminate the pertinent information despite the distraction. At the end of my monologue, I field questions from the officers. Edward watches intently but says nothing…until the very end, just as I'm about to wrap up the afternoon session. He raises two fingers in the air to snag my attention.

"Yes, Commander?"

"I have a question for you," he says—rather gratuitously, I think.

"Of course." There's the slightest pinch of sarcasm in my response.

"Why did the computer programmer stay in the shower all day?"

I'm shocked that he's doing this here and now. I'm even more astonished when my mind immediately conjures the indecorous image of me in the shower...with him. It's an impressive feat that I manage to keep my expression neutral. A side glance at the other officers reveals mild surprise on their faces and also a fair amount of interest in the question.

"I don't know. Why _did _the programmer stay in the shower all day, _sir_?"

I place emphasis on the respectful address to keep myself grounded. I doubt his joke is of a risqué nature, but the unexpected quiver of excitement in my abdomen suggests I want it to be.

"The back of the shampoo bottle read: Lather, Rinse, Repeat."

For some reason, his peers find this hilarious. They chortle and snort, with CDR Clearwater giving Edward a hearty smack on the shoulder. The joke-teller smiles a crooked grin and graciously receives their amusement.

But as they had done throughout the briefing, his eyes stay on me.

No matter when I'd looked at him today, those sea green eyes always seemed to be on me.

I can't understand why.

* * *

**WHIP – Web Hosted Interface Program, allows visual interaction with the simulation in the form of graphical image and data displays**

**FORAC – For action**

**Navy officer ranks from junior to senior: Ensign, Lieutenant (junior grade), Lieutenant, Lieutenant Commander, Commander, Captain, Rear Admiral (lower half), Rear Admiral (upper half), Vice Admiral, Admiral**

**A coastal patrol ship is a smaller warship that is commanded by a Lieutenant or LCDR. There are 13 of these ships in service and over 3,000 LTs and LCDRs in the surface warfare community. Because most US Navy ships are commanded by CDRs and CAPTs, being selected as the commanding officer of one of these ships is considered a high achievement for a junior officer.**


	10. Chapter 10 - On the Outside

**Chapter 10 - On the Outside**

* * *

I preferred stuffed animals to Barbies when I was young. The few dolls that were unfortunate enough to be in my possession suffered painful deaths by dismemberment. Mostly, it was petty jealousy that drove me to such violent acts. The Barbies represented everything that I was not: skinny, tall, blonde, blue-eyed…perfect.

Those carefree girls were always confident and popular, always surrounded by friends. They never stayed home alone on Friday and Saturday nights or had to listen to the sounds of college parties they weren't invited to—like I did. Even at a stereotypical "geek" school like MIT, I had a difficult time fitting in.

The computer screen blurs in front of my eyes, and I blink to refocus. I should be concentrating on updating the project's Plan of Action and Milestones spreadsheet instead of listening to my team's end-of-the-day chatter. But it's difficult to tune out their conversations when I feel so envious.

Ben and Angela are talking about their dinner plans for the evening. The co-workers began dating a month ago and seem to be doing well. Eric just finished complaining to Tyler about his toddler's fits and is now listening to the latter caution him that teenagers can throw tantrums just as horrific, perhaps worse. The men begin to discuss an upcoming baseball game they're going to together.

My wishful sigh is lost in the sound of three dull thumps. Tyler cracks open the card-coded door and pokes his head into the hallway. All of us in the workspace stare at him in curiosity when he retreats back inside.

"There's a LCDR Cullen here who wants to see you, Ms. Swan."

Ignoring the quickening of my pulse, I smile at Tyler for his formal use of my last name. He knows I appreciate professionalism when interacting with non-team members. After a quick security scan to make sure nothing confidential or trade-restricted is lying out, I nod for Tyler to admit Edward.

Oddly enough, everyone is in a sudden hurry to go home for the day. I raise an eyebrow at the flurry of activity, but Angela just grins at me as she nudges Ben out the door. By the time Edward has crossed the floor to my workstation, we're alone in the room.

I'm rather surprised to see a frown marring his beautiful features. Instinctively, I straighten in my chair and adopt my most detached demeanor.

"Can I help you, Commander*?"

He sits down in a chair opposite my desk and meets my gaze. Another unexpected sight: the green in his eyes almost seems clouded. His hand runs through his hair and lingers at the back of his neck.

"I know this is none of my business, but…can I ask you something?"

I purse my lips and tilt my head. "Another joke?" I say dryly.

"Definitely not." He inhales a deep breath as if steeling himself or gathering courage. "I noticed your friend at the hotel after I was leaving the restaurant. He was…getting into the back of a police cruiser. I looked around but didn't see you, so I wasn't positive you knew about it. Like I said, it's not my place to get involved—I don't know what your relationship is with him or anything—but if he's in some kind of trouble with the law…I just thought you should be aware."

Edward shifts uncomfortably in the chair, and while I want to say something to put him at ease, my mouth is too dry to speak right away.

Showing obvious concern, his eyes grow wide at my hesitation. "Oh shit, he didn't…? Damn. I was hoping that you weren't…I mean…are you okay?" He leans forward in his seat as if to stand up but then forces out a breath and sits back, trying to be patient.

Even as I dismiss his worries with a shake of the head, my hand reacts, covering the bruised section of my arm underneath my blouse.

"I'm fine. It was just a…misunderstanding. Nothing to worry about."

His skeptical expression shows obvious doubt over my version of the event. I fold my arms over my chest and harden my features despite the urge to run from the room in tears.

"Hmm, if you say so" is his reluctant reply.

We sit silently for a few moments, staring at one another. I presume he's taking my measure and lift my chin defiantly. I know how to play this game.

Then his shoulders relax, and he grants me a lazy grin.

"You know, I had another reason for tracking you down. I need your help."

"Oh?"

I assert how disinterested I am in his words by packing up my belongings to leave. This time he does angle forward, resting his forearms flat atop of my desk.

"Well, this area isn't all that familiar to me. I'm tired of eating at the hotel and would love to find an interesting place for dinner—something small and unpretentious. Any ideas?"

An image of my favorite Greek restaurant springs to mind. A smile almost breaks through my stoic façade at the thought of its delicious food, and Edward picks up on it immediately.

"I know you've got something good," he prods. "But, I have to confess that I'm not great with directions. You could really do me a favor by coming along and showing me the way."

My nerves tingle with excitement. Outwardly, however, I roll my eyes at his lame attempt to ask me to dinner.

"A warship captain who's bad with directions? That's a scary thought."

He affords me an appropriately sheepish grin. "Um, I had a good navigator?"

"I'm sure you did." My voice is liquid condescension.

"Really, I did! So, uh…are you up for the job?"

"Wouldn't you rather have your blond friend do it?" I regret the words and their bitter undertone the moment they pass my lips. Though I wish I was in the same league as his Barbie paragon of perfection, I don't want him to learn the depth of my insecurity.

His tender scoff is confusing until he explains.

"A small and unpretentious restaurant isn't really my sister's gig. She's more of a five-star-establishment kind of woman."

"Oh."

His sister. I refuse to analyze why I'm relieved to discover that. Standing up, I shoulder my leather messenger bag and reach for my car keys.

Edward rises to his feet as well. "Does this mean yes, you'll go with me to dinner?" he asks.

Rejection is on the tip of my tongue. I'm too afraid, worried that I won't be able to maintain my confident pretense, that he'll see through me—who I really am—and then look at me with the same revulsion I feel every day.

"Come on, Bella. I won't crack a single joke the whole time, I swear."

The corner of my mouth twitches. I promised myself I would try.

"How do you feel about Greek?"

* * *

***Although Edward is a Lieutenant Commander, those of that rank are typically addressed using only the Commander portion of the title because of the length. LCDRs are jokingly called "phone commanders" because strangers on the other end of the line won't know if it's the more junior rank unless they ask.**

**Thanks so much to TLS and** **MariahajilE for the mention! Welcome to new readers. :)**

**ps-I posted 2 chapters the other day. Chapter 8 is about Bella's experience immediately after the incident with Jake.**


	11. Chapter 11 - To Want

**Chapter 11 - To Want**

* * *

Edward exemplified the ideal dinner companion. He was interesting, polite, funny, and the perfect amount of inappropriate. Our conversation was lively, and we had quite a few laughs. I answered questions about my background and learned some things about his.

"My ship was shadowing a critical contact of interest when I got the call about my father's stroke. Even if I had gotten permission to pull into port and arrange an immediate flight home, I probably wouldn't have made it in time. At least my mom had the rest of the family there to help her through it. She was devastated when he passed three days later."

"I can't even imagine," I say mournfully.

"That's when I decided to leave active duty. I loved serving, but the lifestyle wasn't for me anymore. My family's always been close, and I've missed out on a lot of important events. And, if I'm ever fortunate enough to have my own family, I want to be there for it, you know?"

"Makes sense to me." I push around some of the vegetables on my plate with a fork. "That was three years ago?"

"Yup. I'd already gotten my MBA while in the Navy, so after finishing up my early command tour, I transitioned to the Reserves and became a Certified Financial Planner."

"And now you're moving down here."

Edward swallows the last bite of his gyro. "Rose is helping me find a place to live since she's been in the area for a while. I was leaning toward renting a two-bedroom apartment, but she thinks I'll look like better husband-slash-daddy material if I go ahead and buy a house." He tilts his head and gives me an amused look. "What do you think? For instance, would _you_ be more likely to consider dating me if I had a driveway and a backyard?"

I put down my fork and frown. "I'm sorry, but I've got to ask this because it doesn't make sense to me. You're intelligent, good-looking, financially independent...and you seem nice enough. Is there a reason why you're still single?" I lean forward to study his ring finger more closely. "Or aren't you?"

Chuckling, he pushes his hand closer to me and wiggles his fingers. "Never been married and also not seeing anyone. I had a girlfriend in college, but the long distance thing didn't work out for us after we graduated. I've dated on and off since then, but with long hours on the ship, deployments, and moving, nothing's lasted. It doesn't help that I'm a boring kind of person and also a little shy."

I give him the biggest skeptical look I can muster.

"I'm serious!" he laughs. "I'd rather stay at home and watch a movie than go to bars or whatever."

"And the shy part?"

"Maybe shy isn't the right word. I just tend not to talk much unless I have a good reason. And before you say anything," he continues with a smirk, noting my expression, "I consider you a good reason."

"Um, thank you?"

"I'm just being honest. Now it's your turn. Though you haven't mentioned anything about a significant other, do you have one?" He crosses his fingers on both hands and closes his eyes. "Please say no, please say no," he chants in a stage whisper.

An image of Jake flashes through my mind, and I have to suppress a shudder instead of laughing at Edward's antics like I want to. Thankfully, the feeling doesn't linger, and he doesn't seem to notice.

"No, I don't have anyone."

I try not to think about how true that is, on more than one level.

"Miss, was your souvlaki okay?" asks our waitress as she clears Edward's empty plate.

I glance down at the barely-touched chicken kebobs and then give her a bright smile.

"It was great! I had a late lunch though, so I got full really fast. Could I get a box?"

"I'll wrap it up for you," she says, taking my dish. "Would you like any dessert or coffee?"

I put a hand on my stomach, shake my head, and gesture toward Edward.

He asks for the bill, and we argue over whether he's picking up my tab or not. He says he'll let me pay if I agree to have dinner with him again. When I roll my eyes and hand him my credit card, he's ecstatic. Secretly, I am, too.

There's an anxious tension between us as we walk out to our cars. Edward doesn't make any overt attempts to touch me, but our arms brush together as we move. I wonder if he's going to give me a goodnight kiss. I hope that he does.

Still, I'm not surprised when he only holds open his arms and asks if he can hug me. After all, I've given him minimal signals of interest, and this dinner wasn't even a real date.

His arms are strong and comfortable, and a sigh escapes me as I let myself enjoy the feeling. We embrace for several lingering moments and then step back slowly. I wonder if my eyes appear as wistful as his as we say goodbye.

My apartment isn't very far away from the restaurant, and soon I'm walking through the door, takeout box in hand.

Like a Pavlovian response, my stomach growls as soon as the lock clicks behind me. I've had a "good" day so far, but my body is clamoring for food. It wants more than the 600 or so calories I've allowed it to take in.

I place the Styrofoam container on small kitchen table and sit down in front of it. And stare.

If I can ignore my hunger pains and go to bed now…but it's not even nine o'clock. I usually can't fall asleep until at least ten.

I rise and go to the medicine cabinet, take out an OTC sleep aid bottle, and place it on the countertop. And stare.

If I take two pills, I'll be asleep within thirty minutes, but also feel groggy for several hours after I wake up in the morning. One pill has a less severe effect, but it takes longer to begin working on me.

Leaving the bottle untouched on the counter, I go to retrieve my journal from the bedroom. Maybe writing will keep my mind off hunger. On the way, however, I pass the leftover food. I pause. And stare at it.

Even if I eat both kebobs in the container, I'll still have consumed less than 1000 calories for the day.

But I've been here before. I know how this is likely to play out. One of two things will happen: I won't be able to stop with just the chicken, or I'll hate myself for letting hunger win and try to purge the failure. Either way, another cycle will begin.

I don't want it to. Knowing I'll see Edward tomorrow, I want it even less. He's already been subjected to deceit about my unfinished meal and when he inquired about my injured knuckles.

Maybe I should just take the sleep aid pills. I return to the bathroom.

For the next five minutes, I wander this path over and over, the arguments bouncing and colliding in my head like number balls in a lottery machine. I clutch my head in my hands and squeeze my eyes shut. I want to scream.

My weary body halts in front of the kitchen table, and I pick up the souvlaki.

I open the box. And I stare.


	12. Chapter 12 - Tough Girl

**Chapter 12 - Tough Girl**

* * *

"Hey, Dad, sorry I missed you last night. I was, um, doing something at the time."

"It's fine. I was just calling to see how things are going. It's been a while."

"The Navy software project has kept me busy, and we're in the final phases now." I try to clear my irritated throat. "Other than that, it's same old, same old." I hold the phone away from my mouth and cough a few times.

"Are you sick?"

"No, I just…well, maybe. It could be a cold or allergies or something."

It's a good red herring, but Charlie Swan isn't satisfied.

"Are you sure that's all it is? Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"No, I really don't think that's—"

"You should go in and get checked out. Make sure you give the doc every symptom, no matter how small. You never know what you might've picked up working around those military guys who travel all over the world. Are you up-to-date on all your shots?"

"Yes, Dad. And I know it's nothing serious. Really, I'm just…"

My voice trails off as I stare out my car's windshield. I'm hiding in the parking lot during lunch so that Edward won't track me down. If he gets too close today, he might see the red and purple speckling around my eyes that the concealer can't hide completely.

"What is it, Bells?" Dad urges. "Talk to me. Are you working too hard? Is the project stressing you out?"

There's genuine concern in his voice, and burning tears form behind my eyelids. I want to go back in time to when I was a child and my biggest problem was a skinned knee. He could put a Band-Aid on it and make it better. I want that kind of comfort now. I need it.

But the nostalgic longing causes me do something unwise.

"Actually, Dad, I've been having, uh…well, it's getting bad again."

"What's getting bad?" he asks carefully.

"The depression, and, um…the other thing."

Silence is heavy on the line. I swipe at the wetness on my cheeks and use the steering wheel to support my forehead.

"I thought you'd gotten over it after you ditched that kid. Why'd it come back after all these years?" His voice has become professional and detached, as if he's carrying out one of his criminal investigations.

"I don't know if it ever really went away," I reply brokenly. "Everything seemed better for a while, but I think it was always there. It's bad right now, really bad, and I don't know what to do."

"Hmm. Well, obviously you can't see a shrink through your insurance company. There's too much of a risk that you'll lose your TS* security clearance, and that'll be the end of your job. You won't be able to take antidepressants on the sly, either, because sometimes they cause false positives on drug tests for amphetamines or benzodiazepine." He sighs. "Damn, Bells, what a mess. Everything you've worked for is at risk."

"I know, but—"

"Don't worry, kid, we'll figure something out. Let's start with the, uh…throwing up thing. Is that what's making you depressed? You really should give yourself a break about that. Yeah, it's not the best habit in the world to have, but it's not a huge deal, either. Don't all the models and gymnasts do that sort of thing? It's not even as bad as smoking, when you think about it."

"Yeah, I guess…" I whisper as I try to stop my heart from plunging in my chest. I feel like I'm getting smaller, shrinking, disappearing into myself.

"As for the depression…you need to come up with a plan. Read some books about it or see if you can find some online therapy. Maybe exercise for the endorphin release, get a new hobby, or go out more. Are you doing any of those things now? Are you trying to get over this, Bells? _Really _trying?"

"Well, I—"

"Then you need to work harder at it. Come on, I know you're better than this. Don't let this mess up your life. Remember what happened last time. You don't want to get locked up again, do you?"

"No…of course not."

"That didn't sound very convincing."

I clear my throat once more and make another attempt. "I'll try harder, maybe look into the online therapy you mentioned or something."

"Good. I'll do some more research on my end and see what I can come up with. Hang in there, kiddo. I know you can do this. You're my tough little girl, right?"

I dig my fingernails into my palms and grit my teeth.

"Right."

* * *

***TS = Top Secret, a type of government security clearance that, in general, gives one access to data that affects national security, counterterrorism/counterintelligence, or other highly sensitive data. In order to receive TS clearance, all candidates must pass an oral interview after a stringent background investigation has been conducted.**


	13. Chapter 13 - Let Go

**Chapter 13 - Let Go**

* * *

-Twelve years ago-

_November 27, 2003_

_Happy Thanksgiving to me._

_Instead of being at home in Forks, I'm stuck here at McLean Hospital. My GRT*, Becca, brought me here Tuesday night, and because all the doctors are too busy having a life, I won't get an evaluation until next Monday, maybe Tuesday. That means a lot of games of solitaire and free cell for me._

_At least they let me go to Next House* with an escort this morning so I could get a few more things from my room. Mom brought me some essentials yesterday before she flew back home , but I was on a 30-minute sharps watch at the time and couldn't have stuff like paper and a pen. It's annoying when someone checks you over every half hour to make sure you're not slicing your wrists open or anything. I think it was a bit of overkill (haha) in my case, but it was still better than the 5-minute watch they had me on during my first hour here. I felt bad for the poor chick who looked in on me—I thought she should've just gotten a magazine and pulled up a chair beside my bed._

_So, how did all this happen? It's easy for me to explain but hard to believe. Basically, I just shut down._

_I'd spent all last weekend in the computer lab working on my program assignment. Literally. I took my pillow, a bag of snacks, and a 2-liter of Diet Coke (the first of many that weekend) with me. When I emerged early Monday morning, I had a finished program on my thumb drive and a total of four hours of fragmented sleep under my belt. _

_I also had paper due Wednesday, so that meant another all-nighter on Monday. But sometime before dawn, I started to panic about not getting it done. Then I started hating on myself for…well, for anything and everything. There was so much pressure, and I felt like a failure for not being able to handle it all. I fell into this funk and somehow ended up on my bed, staring at the ceiling and moaning every once in a while._

_That's how Jess found me in the morning. Like a good roommate, she tried everything she could think of to coax me out of it, but I was too depressed to respond or even look at her. I don't blame her for freaking out and getting Becca._

_What happened after that is a little foggy. I remember talking to Dean Someone-or-Another. I started to come out of my funk when she brought up McLean, but by then it was too late. She'd already made the decision to put me on an involuntary psychiatric hold._

_Lovely._

_I think she overreacted. Yeah, I didn't care whether I lived or died at the time, but it wasn't like I was planning to off myself. I may have had _those_ specific thoughts before, but she didn't know that. I think she just wanted to go home to stuff her turkey and she needed a way to get me off campus and out of her hair. Bitch._

_So anyway, here I am, just biding my time until I can convince the doctor on Monday that my breakdown was the result of stress and a lack of sleep. And really, those things did play a major role. I know I've got some other serious issues going on—hell, I'm not stupid—but I just have to keep pushing through, playing the game. _

_I guess it's not so bad here. I've certainly been able to catch up on sleep in my tiny little room. It's just big enough for the metal-framed bed, a side table, a small set of drawers, and a chair. At least I have my own bathroom/shower._

_A nurse brings me meals in a styrofoam container. Now that I'm off suicide watch, I get foods that I can eat with plastic utensils. It's not the best-tasting stuff, but it's not terrible. _

_Being off watch also means I can leave my room, though the only places we're allowed to go are the hallways and the common room. It's weird walking down the hall and seeing all the solid locked doors with color-coded cards that tell how often a person has to be checked. But there are plenty of doors without cards, like mine is now._

_I've gone to the common room a few times today and watched some of the other patients do their things. It's a little scary, to be honest. I think I'm the youngest one here right now. Everyone else is middle-aged or older. Most of them seem to be in a daze and just sit around staring off into space until it's time to line up at the meds window. A few will pace around the room in an endless pattern, like those zoo animals that've been locked away in a small space for years. I wonder if it's the same phenomenon for these people, and if so, is the space they're trapped in physical or mental. Maybe both?_

_I always thought I was too smart and strong to be in a place like this, but then there's Marcus. If I hadn't seen him get his plastic cup of pills, I would've thought he worked here. He's a tall, thin man with grayish-brown hair and a shaggy beard. You can see intelligence and life in his eyes. He laughs and talks to everyone, and last night, he brought out a guitar to play. He was really good._

_Turns out, Marcus used to be an aeronautics professor at MIT! I overheard him talking to one of the nurses, but they left the room before I could find out anything else. How did a guy like him end up here? He seems so normal, although it sounded like he'd either been at McLean for a while or had come here before. _

_It's hard for me to understand why he let himself go and threw away such a promising life. __I can't ever let that happen to me._

_I'm better than that._

_I'm not that weak._

* * *

***GRT = Graduate Resident Tutor**

***Next House = an MIT undergraduate residence hall**


	14. Chapter 14 - Appeal

**Nautical definitions at end of chapter**

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Appeal**

* * *

"Edward?"

I look over my shoulder to where he stands, staring, his expression a mixture of awe, longing, and melancholy. It tugs at my emotions.

"What's wrong?"

Without averting his gaze, he shakes his head slowly and gives me a small grin.

"I'd forgotten just how damned sexy those ladies are."

I squint in the afternoon sun, attempting to evaluate the sensual appeal of the steel vessel in front of me. This Arleigh-Burke class destroyer is certainly a notable feat of engineering and looks very capable, but I'm not sure I would call it sexy.

Edward touches my arm and then points to a ship on an adjacent pier.

"Check out the cruiser over there. See how top-heavy and boxy she is? Looks like a stiff wind would push her right over. And those busy, upright masts...not attractive." He makes a _tsk_ing sound and turns back to the destroyer. "Now compare it to this beauty. She's sleek, well-proportioned, and aerodynamic with clean, angled lines…and all these design choices are a classic case of form following function…small radar cross-section, increased survivability…" He sighs in admiration. "Like I said, so _sexy_."

"Alrighty then," I laugh. "Do you need a minute alone or something?"

He nudges me into walking forward toward the destroyer's brow.

"No, I'll get it together. Of course, if I had a nicer sight to appreciate…"

His slower pace has left him slightly behind me, and he makes a show of checking out my rear end. After rolling my eyes—something I find myself doing a lot around him—I grab his wrist and pull him beside me. He chuckles when I make him go first up the gangway stairs.

As is tradition, he stops about three-quarters of the way across the brow, faces aft where the ensign flies, and performs a crisp salute. I see numerous military personnel render this honor to each other every day, but there's something special about a member of the Navy saluting the flag on a ship. The scene is even more alluring when said military member is as attractive as Edward.

I cross the gangway and join him on the ship's quarterdeck. A young officer in uniform, probably no more than 22 or 23, stands at a podium and tries very hard to maintain a professional demeanor as she takes in my companion's poster-child appearance.

Edward gives her an easy smile. "Good afternoon. I'm LCDR Cullen. Could you let the captain know I'd like to see him if he's not busy?"

"Cullen?" she repeats with some surprise. "Hold on, please, sir." She walks over to a gray phone box mounted on the bulkhead, punches in a number, and speaks quietly into the handset for a moment.

"He's on his way," she reports back to Edward, who is surveying the ship with a half-admiring, half-critical eye.

Only a handful of minutes pass before a tall man in a blue and gray pixelated uniform emerges from the inside of the ship through a watertight door. He has a lean frame very similar to Edward's, and as he nears us, I can see further resemblance in their strong jaws and defined cheekbones.

Edward fires off a jaunty salute to the senior officer, who returns it with a flick of his wrist near his head.

"This is a surprise. I thought you were coming by tomorrow. I even scheduled a field day in your honor," says the captain in a wry voice.

"You don't have to do extra cleaning on my account."

The captain shakes his head sadly. "But the engineering department was really looking forward to having your help wiping down the bilges."

I snicker at how easily Edward fell into the trap, and he smiles good-naturedly.

"Bella, this is my oh-so-funny older brother, Jasper." He tilts his head toward me. "Bella's the project manager of the maritime sim module I'm testing over at J7."

Jasper and I shake hands as Edward continues.

"There was a small hiccup in the program, so we've got a couple hours of dead time as it gets sorted out. When I learned that Bella had never been on a destroyer, I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone and bring her over."

"I've toured a sub and a carrier, though, so I have some idea of what it's all about," I clarify, not wanting to sound completely ignorant, especially given the nature of my current project.

Jaspers glances at his watch and then reaches into the podium to grab two visitor badges. He hands a red one to Edward that has "No Escort Required" stamped on it. Conversely, mine is white and reads "Escort Required."

"I can show you my cabin and forward officer's country, but I've got a meeting to go to in 15 minutes. Edward will have to take it from there." Jasper smirks and claps his brother on the back. "Of course, it's been a while for him. If he gets lost, you can ask any of the crew for directions."

"Oh, ha ha, you're a bucket of laughs today," Edward mutters sardonically. "You know what else is funny? I think I might be sick this weekend and won't be able to watch the kids for your date night with Alice."

I smile at their playful banter as I follow them inside the skin of the ship. We climb up a ladderwell and walk down a passageway to the captain's two-room cabin. Jasper lets me look around until I'm satisfied, and then he introduces me to a few officers who are working on computers in their staterooms. Judging by the weary expressions I notice, paperwork is just as time-consuming and headache-inducing aboard ships as it is anywhere else.

After a warm goodbye and a poorly-hidden glance of significance sent to his brother, Jasper leaves me in "Edward's capable hands." My escort has the decency to look sheepish.

"Wow, I'm getting innuendo from all sides today," I remark dryly as he shows me the officers' wardroom.

"Sorry. I guess I'm being a little too obvious with how much I like you, huh?" he says with some embarrassment. "I'll try to tone it down."

"Oh. Well, uh…I don't mind…so much…"

"Okay…good…"

We grin awkwardly at each other, and I feel like a giddy teenager again.

"Come on, let me take you around the rest of the ship." He reaches for my hand and leads me into the passageway.

We climb another ladderwell up to the bridge where I sit in the captain's chair and look through binoculars. Edward shows me navigation displays and demonstrates how to drive the ship when it's underway.

He guides me back down to the main deck where I tour Combat Information Center, the galley and mess decks, a main engineering space, and one of the crew berthing rooms.

"I've got one more place to show you below decks, and then we'll make our last stop in the helo hangar," Edward says, opening a bright red door with a painted firefighting emblem. "This is a repair locker, where damage control equipment is located. My first assignment in the Navy was being the Damage Control Assistant on a destroyer. I was in charge of directing control efforts for the entire ship in case of fire, flooding, toxic gas, or CBR situations."

"Wow, impressive," I murmur, noting his passionate expression as he scans the small space crammed with various types of equipment and repair materials. "You sound like you miss it a lot."

He turns to me and lets out a barely audible sigh. "Yeah, I do. I had some of the most amazing experiences of my life in the Navy, and I loved being on a ship, being at sea. But leaving was the right thing to do. I didn't have much going on outside of my career, and it would've only gotten worse as I moved up the ranks. There's not a single second of my service time that I regret, but that life wasn't for me."

"Does it feel like you're on the right track now?"

"I think it has the potential to be. Working as a financial planner might not give me the same level of job satisfaction, but I'll have reliable hours and a more flexible schedule. Hopefully, I'll be able to go to my nieces and nephews' soccer games, music recitals, birthday parties, and such. It won't be like before, when I was the odd man out for missing Cullen family picnics and trips to the beach. "

Edward moves a step closer to me and takes my hand with one of his.

"However, the best part is that when I meet an intelligent, beautiful woman, I can ask her to spend the day with me and not have to worry about cancelling because some piece of equipment breaks down or a member of the crew gets arrested. That's important because, if this amazing woman says yes, I won't want anything to disturb my time with her."

"Oh, I see." My voice is low and husky. A sensation of aching pressure begins to develop below my waist.

Edward's grip tightens around my fingers as his free hand cups the side of my neck and jaw. I feel the buckle of his uniform belt graze my shirt and belatedly realize that my hips are searching for contact as they curve toward him.

"Bella?"

I stare up at the soft-looking lips that had just formed my name.

"Hmm?"

"I really want to kiss you. Is that okay?"

Now my gaze flicks to those crystal clear green eyes that openly proclaim his desire for me. I see the flash of heat in them the moment he hears my foregone whispered reply.

"Yes."

I close my eyes in eager anticipation as his mouth descends onto mine.

-o-o-o-o-

* * *

**Modified Wiki Definitions**

*** ****Brow**** – gangway from pier to ship**

*** ****Quarterdeck**** – ****area designated by the captain to be used as the ship's reception area while in port**

*** ****Bulkhead**** – ****a dividing wall or barrier between compartments in a ship**

*** ****Field Day**** – a ship's cleaning event from the whole crew**

*** ****Engineering Department**** – ****an organizational unit aboard a ship that is responsible for the operation, maintenance, and repair of the ****propulsion**** systems and the support systems for crew, passengers, and cargo**

*** ****Bilges**** – ****the lowest internal portion of the hull where dirty water, fuel, and oil can collect**

*** ****CBR**** – Chemical, Biological, and/or Radiological (Nuclear)**

*** Any person in command of a naval vessel is considered the captain of that ship. (S)he is called "Captain" by the crew, but the title is different from the Navy rank of Captain, which is equivalent to a Colonel in the other services.**

* * *

**FB page: WinterhorsesFiction**

**FB profile: Rachel Winterhorses**

**Twitter: winterhorses**


	15. Chapter 15 - Rest

**Chapter 15 - Rest**

* * *

"Your dedicated efforts during these two weeks were integral in the success of Exercise SeaStar. I appreciate the patience you demonstrated as we shook out the bugs from the program. Your round-the-clock support ensured that the exercise proceeded smoothly, even when we faced unforeseen difficulties. It's been a pleasure and an honor to work with you, and I hope our paths cross in the future. Again, thank you so much. If you're traveling, have a safe journey home."

I nod to Staff Sargent Palmer, the Reserve Training administration coordinator, and he takes my place in front of the room to continue with the debriefing. I march briskly out of Bay 11 with my head held high, but the moment the heavy door closes behind me, my body sags against the wall. Though I'm sorely tempted to lie down and sleep in the middle of the hallway, I take a few seconds to gather my strength and then trudge to my team's workspace.

Equally bleary-eyed faces greet me inside the room.

"Great job, guys. I know there's still an ass-ton of paperwork to do, but we'll worry about it tomorrow. Get the hell out of here and go to bed."

There are a few mumbled replies mixed in with unintelligible guttural sounds as the team collects their belongings and shuffles out. After three and a half intense days spent grabbing sleep in small chunks whenever possible, we're all drained.

Providing continuous scenario oversight and support for this multinational exercise would have been tiring even with the entire staff present, but we had to accomplish the task with two less personnel than expected. Tyler was in a car accident over the weekend and had been released from the hospital only yesterday. Additionally, one of the reservists, CDR Llewellyn, came down with the flu and was out for two days.

Though it's eleven in the morning, I know that letting everyone take the rest of the day off is the right decision. Some of the team have been here for 18 hours straight, and I'm mostly brain-dead. I've only gone home once since Monday, instead taking naps in a deserted conference room and showering in the locker room.

As soon as the last person is out the door, I rest my head on my arms. Every cell in my body clamors for my cozy bed at home, but I'm exhausted by the mere thought of going out to my car and driving twenty minutes through busy lunchtime traffic. Although I know if I don't get up and start moving, I'll fall asleep at my desk, I can't quite force myself out of the chair.

A knock on the door startles me out of shallow sleep. Glancing at my watch, I realize that twenty minutes have passed since I put my head down. I rub my eyes and wipe my mouth before stumbling over to the door.

Edward doesn't say a word as he enters the room. I'm able to muster mild curiosity when he shoulders my purse and drapes my garment bag over his arm. But only when he's helping me into the passenger seat of his rental car does it occur to my sluggish brain to ask him what he's doing.

"I'm putting you to bed" is his firm reply.

I nod and then waste no time in passing out against the side window.

It physically hurts when he rouses me to exit the car. Everything I see appears as blurred streaks of color as he leads me through the hotel lobby and into the elevator. I lean heavily against his chest. He feels so warm and comfortable that I let out a low growl when the elevator ding announces our arrival to his floor. My feeble grousing doesn't cease until Edward guides me down onto the king-sized mattress and pulls the covers over me.

"You joining me?" I mumble against his lips when he gives me a soft kiss.

The black veil of unconsciousness enshrouds me before I can hear his reply.

-o-0-o-0-o-

My first thought when my eyes open again is that I must be late for class. I'm about to throw Jake's arm off my stomach and jump out of bed when I realize the truth. The firm body beside me belongs to Edward, and I'm in his hotel room.

A lazy smile stretches across my face as I snuggle closer to his sleeping form. Since our pseudo-date at the Greek restaurant a week ago, Edward and I have spent as much free time together as possible. Unfortunately, the commencement of SeaStar on Monday meant our recent rendezvous had been limited to coffee breaks and stolen kisses in passing.

Despite a hesitant beginning to our relationship on my part, I never imagined that our first time sleeping together would consist of actual sleeping. However, it's an easy, steady progression that seems to be working thus far. I normally dive headfirst into life's endeavors, and while that relentless approach brings me success more often than not, the failures can be spectacular—Jake being a case in point.

Before I am caught up in an unpleasant past, I take a deep breath and push away memories of my ex-boyfriend. I would much rather make new ones with the unfailingly sweet man beside me.

I doze on and off for a while until nature demands I get up. After pulling my travel kit from my garment bag, I tiptoe into the bathroom, use the toilet, and then brush my teeth. Hopefully, my mouth will be put to good use in the near future, and I want to be ready.

Edward is still dead to the world when I slip back into bed with him. He had been lying on his side but turned to face the ceiling while I was gone. I'm not sure if his change in position is a blessing or a curse. My fingers curl into a tight fist at the sight of tented sheets over his crotch area. He had also put in long hours for SeaStar and deserves to get his fill of unmolested sleep, no matter how much my hands ache to go exploring.

I'm able to keep my upper body still, but it's impossible to stop my thighs from shifting in discomfort. I close my eyes, but the action does little to help. The mental image of that tempting bulge remains. My mind is flooded with thoughts of what I want to do: touch him, taste him, take him inside.

Attempting to concentrate on something else is futile. Not much is as alluring as Edward, in general, but when he's lying in a bed beside me with a sizeable erection, I'm single minded in my focus. It's a testimony to my sense of propriety that, when my hand reaches out to him, it comes to rest on a firm pectoral muscle instead of its desired target.

The metronomic rhythm of his heartbeat does provide some measure of calm, however, and eventually I am able to open my eyes without fear of their gaze wandering down his body. Instead, I glut myself on the visual treat of his handsome profile. There's a strong ruggedness brought about by the angular lines of his cheek, nose, and jaw, but his long eyelashes and pale pink lips appear contrastingly soft. I stare in longing at what I know to be a talented mouth, and then it surprises me by moving.

"Bella..."

"Edward?"

"What did the potato chip say to the battery?"

His voice is raspy and low—both adorable and sexy. I am assaulted with warring urges to pet him and to pounce on him.

"If you're EverReady, I'm Frito Lay."

I groan instead.

* * *

**Check out my insanely awesome cover image by Mina Rivera! She's so talented! I've also posted it on FB.**


	16. Chapter 16 - Saturation

**Chapter 16 - Saturation**

* * *

Hands, hips, teeth, tongue. He's everywhere at once, and it's not enough.

Clothes are a bothersome barrier to the contact we need. Skin on skin, bodies aligned. That's what we need. The sheets tangle around his legs as he moves over me, fumbling hastily with the buttons on my blouse. My slacks and underwear soon join his boxers and tee shirt on the floor.

Finally, _finally_, I am able to take his thick hardness in my hand, something I've longed to do since our first kiss. His body jerks in response, and he thrusts into my tight grip, a hiss of air escaping through his teeth. I've never felt so powerful and humble, devious and grateful, all at the same time.

His mouth is on my throat, biting, sucking, teasing. He moans into my skin when my thumb spreads wet arousal over a smooth, rounded tip. I revel in the feeling of his weight on my palm, but it's not enough.

Edward follows my wordless command and lies back to allow me full access. There is eager bewilderment in his expression as I pass a hand between my legs. Comprehension dawns in the form of a sharp gasp when slick fingers curl around his cock.

Up and over, twisting and tugging, my hand works a steady pace that has him gripping the sheets. His spine stiffens, his hips move in rhythm, and I lick my lips hungrily. With his eyes closed, he doesn't realize my intent until he's sliding in and out of my mouth.

"Oh fuck…" His body stills at once. "I can't…not yet…c'mere…"

He reaches for me, but I evade by moving down his body, dragging my tongue over the underside of his erection as I go. His groan rumbles through him, and he makes another half-hearted attempt to pull me up. Defeat is finally conceded when my lips caress the gathered folds of skin beneath his twitching cock.

"God, that feels good," he sighs.

I pause a moment to grin, then continue laving attention over the whole of him. His grunts and hisses spur me on until my actions are not enough. I need him in my mouth again.

"Bella..." He wants his own opportunity to explore.

This time, I let him guide me onto my back. Edward wastes no time in latching onto my breast, taking my nipple deep into his mouth. A hand dips between my legs, drawing two fingertips around my clit, circling, brushing, stroking but never fully making contact. I arch toward him in vain; his hand moves with me, adjusting his touch to maintain that frustrating, constant lightness. He teases and tortures until my body is writhing beneath him.

"Please…I want you…please…"

It's not words I speak; it's need and promise, aching pleasure and honeyed desperation.

He relents and covers me, bringing our desire together between my legs. His lips are at my ear, his breathing heavy and strained.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he rasps. "I got some yesterday, in case you changed your mind…"

"No, no, just like this. I want to feel you inside me like this."

"God, yes…fuck…"

He pushes in slowly, savoring the moment, and pauses upon filling me completely. But the anticipation of more drives me mad, and I tighten around him, impatient and demanding.

His growl comes too late to provide warning. The force of his responding thrust catches me off-guard. It's perfect—deep and deliberate and hard. I can feel the passion in his punishing rhythm, making my already-smoldering senses catch fire and burn. It's as if some sort of floodgate has opened or a dam has burst. Everything within him, all that he is, surges through our connection and into my waiting body.

I wrap my legs around his thighs and hold on.

He is a man possessed. His mouth crashes against mine, claiming my lips, challenging my tongue. I let him in…hold him there…wanting to take whatever he gives and keep it forever. Something is happening, something important, and though I can't identify it, I know enough to welcome its arrival.

Over and over, he drives into me until I feel those first elusive stirrings of impending release. My hips heave and twist, lunge and parry, hoping to locate the narrow path leading to an inescapable ending. I curve upward, angle away, push forward, and then…

There. My hands go to his sides and clamp down, holding him in place, showing him where to stroke me again and again as we collide. Off in the distance, there's a nebulous bubble, blurred and undefined, and we chase after it, crashing into one another as we hurtle toward our finish.

Our mouths still, lips slide away, everything forgotten except the shared ache where we connect. Edward's sweat-dampened forehead falls to my shoulder, his breath heavy and hot, his labored grunts keeping time with his thrusts.

It's there, just up ahead, and we surge forward, our victory now assured. Each leap closer brings clearer focus and reveals more of our imminent relief. It's defiantly beautiful with its quivering walls and liquid center, a delicate cache of seductive chaos. My fingers dig into Edward's skin, conveying my need, and I hear him. I hear his frenzied, desperate words that cajole and plead and warn of his impending finish, but I pay them no heed. I'm using him now: he's an extension of my desire. I tighten my legs around his thighs and pull him farther inside, pushing him closer to that bubble of pressure, now tight and condensed and ready for me. He's begging, saying he can't, crying out for permission, but I don't hear him. I'm reaching and straining, and I can almost touch it, we're so close…so close…keep going…don't stop…don't stop…don't stop…

There.

With one final lunge, he captures my need, bursting it open, releasing wave after wave of heated liquid pleasure that rushes over my body and threatens to carry me away. Only the solid feeling of Edward's shuddering body keeps me tethered to this earth. His mouth hasn't stopped moving against my skin, but I can barely hear him over the rushing current in my ears.

"Oh god…coming…you…Bella…fuck…"

Eyes filled with awe and wonder, he holds himself over me on trembling arms, but I need him closer. My hands circle around his torso, and I pull him down, completely onto me, bringing as much of us into contact as I can. His lips press into my neck, his damp hair intermingles with mine, our legs tangle together.

It's quiet now, except for our gasping breaths and pounding heartbeats. Nothing exists outside of our slick bodies and the connection we share. We are slack and spent, drained empty and at peace.

And yet, I've never felt so full. I don't understand how or why, but it doesn't matter now. I want to dwell in this perfect moment that is wholly enough.

No. It's more than that. More than enough.

It's everything.


	17. Chapter 17 - Young at Heart

**Chapter 17 - Young at Heart**

* * *

_March 31, 2015_

_Yup, it's true. I should've known not to fight it, but at least I accept it now. I can announce my sickness to the world. Okay, maybe I'm not ready for that quite yet, but I can admit to myself the truth: I, Isabella Marie Swan, am one hundred percent completely, certifiably, and undeniably crazy…in LOVE!_

_Yeah, yeah, Mr. Journal, I hear you. It's too soon, I'm still getting to know him, it's just me diving into the deep end again and getting all obsessed, blah blah blah. I hear you, and I don't care. I feel so happy right now that I'm just going to go with it._

_And hope I don't scare Edward away in the process._

_He seems to be right there with me, though. Our phone calls and Skype sessions have been amazing, and even though we haven't actually said those three little words to each other yet, I think he feels it. Maybe he's waiting to say them in person. God, I hope so._

_Finally, I get to see him again! I didn't think this past month would ever end. It was so damned hard watching him go through airport security and walk away. I swear I was tempted to quit my job and get on the plane, too. It didn't even help much knowing he'd be back in four weeks. But, I was able to do the right thing by acting my age and resigning myself to our temporary separation._

_My age, ha. I don't feel like 30 right now. If I didn't have to look in the mirror, I'd swear I was 16 again and crushing on a hot older boy. It's not too far off the mark. Edward _is_ four years older than me, and no one on the planet can deny his hotness. God, he is SO effing hot._

_But…I'd be lying if I said his sublime gorgeousness didn't worry me. As it is, I don't understand how someone like him can be attracted to me. He's just...wow, and I'm...eh. A blobby round eh. There's no way I'll be able to keep him interested as I get older. You know he's going to be one of those guys who looks as good, if not better, when he's 70. _

_That's getting a little ahead of myself, though. We've barely spent any time together, and I should know better than to hope for a lasting relationship with him. Right now, he only sees the fake me—the one who's successful and confident, the one who doesn't have a laundry list of mental issues. Maybe he could overlook my physical shortcomings, but what would happen if he finds out who I really am? _

_He'd probably run sc__reaming for the hills, and I wouldn't blame him at all. Hell, _I'd_ run away from me if I could._

_Argh, stop it! I'm not going to ruin my happy mood with that crap. He's going to be here tomorrow, and I should be celebrating!_

_I can't believe he decided to go with the apartment that's between his office and my place instead of the one by the beach. And he only signed up for a six-month lease. What does that mean? Does it mean anything? Do I want it to mean something?_

_Uh, yeah I do. Don't forget, this is the teenage-minded pseudo-adult who practiced signing her name "Isabella Cullen" in her journal last week. I even sketched some engagement rings. Sigh. I'd better keep this book under lock and key, because if Edward ever looks through it, he'll know for sure I'm nuts._

_At least my eating problems are a little better. I'm averaging 3-4 times a week instead of almost every day, sometimes multiple times a day. It helps that he and I usually talk right before I go to bed. That's when hunger hits me the most. I'm almost down to 130, so there's some progress. If I was 5'10" instead of 5'4", I'd look pretty damn good. Ha, in my dreams. Still, that's 5 pounds less than when I met Edward, and he was okay with me then. I think._

_I seem to be less depressed, too. I hope it lasts. Somehow, I have to hide this from Edward. I HAVE to. If he finds out and I lose him…I don't know what would happen, but it would probably be bad. I can't let that happen._

_And I won't let it happen, dammit. Think positive thoughts. Think of our reunion. I'm going to pick him up from the airport tomorrow, then I'll bring him back here for a night of mind-blowing sex. The day after that, I'll help him move into his new apartment. And by "help," I mean "christen every possible horizontal surface and probably a few vertical ones."_

_I can't wait!_

* * *

**_To answer a guest reviewer's question, yes, Edward and Bella did have a pre-sex talk. Edward, being the forward-thinking man that he is, brought up the topic (haha). And of course he started it with a joke. _**

**_E: When should a man wear a condom?_**

**_B (smirking): Never?_**

**_E (wide-eyed): Uh...I was going to say "on every conceivable occasion," but I like your answer better!_**


	18. Chapter 18 - Cracks

**Chapter 18 – Cracks**

* * *

Edward may be the youngest of the Cullen siblings, but he's the most like his mother. I've never met a person as laid-back as Esme Cullen. Her easy-going nature is evident in the warm smile that greets us when Edward and I walk into her kitchen.

"Oh, these are beautiful. Thank you," she says, accepting the bouquet of flowers I've brought. "It's great to finally meet you."

"Same here, Mrs. Cullen."

"You can call me Esme if you'd like." She grins at her son. "Everyone else is in the back. There's a cooler of drinks and some snacks to tide you over until dinner is ready."

She waves me off with a cheery laugh when I ask if she needs a hand with anything. Edward takes my hand and leads me to the backyard.

"I apologize in advance if things get a little crazy," he warns. "The kids can be…excitable."

Muted screams and shouts can already be heard inside the house, and when we walk through the back door, I'm surprised to see that there are only five children present. With such a high noise level, I'd expected at least a dozen.

Three boys and a girl, all of whom look to be elementary school-aged, are playing football with three adults. One boy sits on the sidelines with Jasper. Edward makes his way to his brother and pulls up two chairs for us.

"Good to see you again," Jasper nods, standing up to give me a quick hug.

Edward reaches out a hand and musses the shaggy blond hair of the boy, who is probably seven or eight.

"This is my super cool nephew. He's Emmett and Rosalie's middle son. Liam, this is Miss Bella."

"Hi, Liam."

He blinks up at me with serious blue eyes and nods. "Hi." He holds my gaze for a moment and then returns his attention to a sketch pad in his lap.

"What'cha drawing, bud?" Edward asks, craning his head to get a better view. "Is that Uncle Jasper?"

"It's supposed to be," he huffs in frustration, "but his face is all crooked. I can't get it right." The paper shows the marks of repeated erasures.

"I know a trick that can help, if you want me to show you," I offer.

"Yeah?" His eyes regard me skeptically.

Edward switches seats with me, and I gesture for him to be my demonstration model. Liam hands me his pad, flipped to a clean page, and watches carefully as I sketch light ovals and symmetry lines to show placement of main facial features. A hint of shading adds some realism, and then it's Liam's turn to try. He turns back to Jasper and goes to work.

"That's really good," Edward murmurs in my ear. "Did you take classes?"

"No, although I did check out a few drawing books from the library when I was a kid. I used to doodle when I got bored in school, but it's nothing more than a fun party trick."

"Well, I'm still impressed." He brushes his lips over the skin behind my ear, which elicits a shiver from me.

I swat his knee. "Behave," I say with mock sternness.

The football game ends shortly after that, and seven players descend on our small group to meet me. I recognize the blonde as Edward's sister, Rosalie. She introduces me to her husband, Emmett McCarty, and their other two sons, Jacen and William. Jasper and his wife, Alice, have a daughter, Anna, and a son, Isaac.

After all the hellos have been exchanged, the group moves inside to wash up. Edward chuckles as I blow out a quiet breath of air.

"I should've made everyone wear nametags, huh?"

"And with last names so I can keep the kids straight," I add in agreement.

Esme has prepared two large dishes of lasagna—one with meat and the other without. Edward insists that I have a seat and let him bring me a plate. I try not to cringe when he sets a large helping in front of me. Having not eaten much all day, I'm eyeing the food lustfully even as I'm subdividing the piece in my head.

I begin with a generous salad in hopes of dulling hunger's edge. It's delicious—fancy greens, perfectly ripe cherry tomatoes, crisp slices of cucumber and onion. If I eat only half the lasagna on my plate, it will be an acceptable meal in my mind.

But, of course I can't stop. Esme's creation tastes amazing, and forkful after forkful disappears into my mouth. Even though my stomach is now uncomfortably full, I can't stop.

My anxiety level increases with each bite, and my leg is bouncing frantically under the table by the time the meal is finished.

"Is everything okay?" Edward asks as we help clear off the table.

"What?"

"You seem distracted."

"Oh, um, sorry. I was just, uh…remembering an issue that came up at work yesterday. Nothing important, really." The words tumble over each other as they speed past my lips.

Edward gives me a brief sidelong glance and then appears to accept my explanation. "Do you mind if we hang out here for a little while longer? The kids asked me to throw the ball with them."

"Sure, yeah. That's fine." My gaze sweeps around the kitchen. It seems everyone is heading back outside. "Go ahead outside. I need to use the bathroom first."

He grabs his half-full beer and points to the staircase in the foyer. "If the one downstairs is occupied, there's another bathroom at the top of the stairs."

I don't even bother checking the main floor bathroom to see if it's available. The one upstairs is more preferable to what I'm about to do. On a full stomach, it's fairly easy to be quiet, but I feel much less fretful when not having to worry about people walking by the door.

Because I don't want to raise suspicion, I spend only a few minutes purging what I feel is the portion of lasagna I shouldn't have eaten. My panic lessens when I see pieces of green mixed in with the orange.

Damage control has been successful.

After rinsing out my mouth and unwrapping one of the peppermints I keep for occasions like these, I practically skip back to the group outside. I feel so much lighter, both literally and figuratively. Esme, Alice, and Liam are seated at a patio table. I join them with a smile. While everyone else tosses around a softball, the two ladies and I chat comfortably, and Liam attempts to sketch a flower. Every so often, he asks me for feedback or advice.

At one point, I offer up peppermints to my table companions and have one myself. I've been drinking water aplenty but want to make sure I'm ready for any Edward kisses that may come my way. The candy dissolves in my mouth for a few minutes, and then I begin to chew up the rest.

With the mint held between my back teeth, I bite down. I'm startled with a strange cracking sound vibrates through the bones in my head. My lower jaw slips to side as my teeth grind against one another. Something tickles the back of my throat, and I swallow the crunchy bits of candy—along with something else.

It takes me a moment to process what just happened. My eyes widen in horror as a very distressing thought crosses my mind. Luckily, I'm leaning over Liam's shoulder, so no one notices my expression. I excuse myself with a wan smile and hurry to the bathroom.

My fear is confirmed. When I examine my teeth in the mirror, I discover that half of my rearmost molar on the right side is missing.

Dazed, I stare at my reflection until the image blurs in front of me. My mind is curiously blank, and I feel the odd desire to laugh. So I do. The sound is derisive, yet it serves to raise my spirits. With a secret smirk on my lips, I leave the bathroom and return to the table outside.

The ball game has finished up, and it appears that goodbyes are being said. I'm on autopilot, playing the part of the grateful guest even though I feel numb inside. Edward drives me home, and although I try to keep up my side of our conversation, we soon fall silent.

Forty minutes after leaving Esme's house, Edward pulls into the parking lot of my apartment complex.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks for the third time.

"I already told you I'm fine." A trace of irritation seeps into my voice.

"Okay, okay." A pause. "I know you've got a lot to do tomorrow, but if you want to take a break or get done early, I'd love to see you."

"I doubt I'll have any time, but if I do, I'll call."

He leans toward my seat to kiss me and is surprised when I give him only a quick peck on the lips. Usually we have to tear ourselves away from each other after several passionate minutes.

Telling him good night over my shoulder, I hop out of the car and hurry to the building entrance. I don't want to see his reaction to my hasty departure. All I care about is getting to the privacy of my bedroom.

Once inside the apartment, I drop my bag on the floor, kick off my shoes, and go straight to bed. I don't bother changing clothes or even getting under the covers; I climb onto the mattress and close my eyes.

Within minutes, I am welcoming the analgesic oblivion of sleep.


	19. Chapter 19 - Moving On

**Chapter 19 – Moving On**

* * *

"All of your teeth are showing signs of enamel corrosion. That makes them more susceptible to chips, cracks, discoloration, increased sensitivity, and cavities, such as the four we've discovered today." The dentist holds up a diagram showing the location of the cavities and gives me a sympathetic smile. "I know how difficult it is to cut back on acidic beverages and foods, but the erosion of enamel is permanent. High acid exposure is probably causing your gum recession, as well."

I nod hastily, relieved that he has accepted my explanation without question. And it's not a lie: I do consume large amounts of coffee and diet soda.

"Alright then, let's get started. First, I'll anesthetize the affected teeth on the right side for two fillings and crown preparation."

As I wait in the chair for my mouth to numb, I try to silence the warring thoughts in my head. In one ear, I hear my dad's voice attempt to whitewash the incident. The broken molar will be repaired—no major harm done. The deterioration of my teeth could have just as easily been caused by carbonated beverages, whose 2.5 pH falls within the 1.5 to 3.5 range of gastric acid. There's no reason to get worked up over something that isn't a big deal.

As convincing as those arguments sound, there are just as many valid reasons for an opposing view—that this trip to the dentist _is_ a big deal. A crown will serve as a replacement for the tooth, but it's not the same. In the past, there have been physical expressions of my weakness—raw knuckles, sore throat, broken capillaries—but I've always healed. If I went for a long enough stretch without purging, I had no outward signs of the disorder.

That will never be true again. Although not significant or obvious, the damage is permanent—a tangible, undeniable example of my lack of strength, my repeated failure. It is inescapable proof that I am less than perfect.

Logically, I understand that perfection is impossible. But there's something in my character, some sort of unrelenting drive that demands I excel in everything I do. At MIT, even when crossing paths with some whose intellectual abilities were obviously superior, I chastised myself if I didn't score the highest on an exam or assignment. Second best has never been acceptable.

I used to wonder if my desire to succeed was inherent in my personality or if it was shaped by my dad's influence. He always pushed me to do better, work harder. In high school, if I brought home a 96 percent on my report card, he'd ask why it wasn't 100. When I was selected as principal second violin, the section leader, for All-State Orchestra during my junior year, he gave me a forced smile and a pat on the back. When I didn't move up to principal first violin in my senior year—never mind that the position was awarded to a very talented Julliard-bound student—he didn't even pretend to be happy for me.

My mom, Renee, however, was always ecstatic about my achievements, even though she thought they were unnecessary. She is practically the antithesis of Dad and believes that personal contentment should be the main focus of one's life. In her eyes, competition and ambition can hinder, decrease, or even destroy a person's ability to be happy. She's never understood why Dad works so hard, why he has such high standards.

It's one of the main reasons she left him.

I'd just finished my freshman year at MIT when they separated. It didn't come as a shock to me: I couldn't figure out why they were together in the first place and was surprised they'd lasted as long as they did.

She lives in Colorado now. We chat every few months or so, which is only slightly less frequent than Dad and I talk. I haven't seen either of them in five years, but that's fine with me. Our family wasn't very close even when living under the same roof.

Dad has eased up on me a lot since she moved out, but is harder than ever on himself. He practically lives at the police station, and when not there, he spends long hours in the gym. One of my Facebook friends from high school is on the force and says my dad is in better shape than most of the guys, some of whom are up to thirty years younger.

I tried talking to him about it a few times, but he just laughed me off. Charlie Swan is stubborn to a fault, and he passed that trait, along with many others, to his daughter. I've come to realize it's irrelevant whether my determined nature is the result of genetics or upbringing, or both. It doesn't matter. What's done is done, and there's no reason to belabor the issue.

As the dentist reenters the room, I wonder why I can't feel the same way about my own shortcomings.

-o-O-0-O-o-

The day after Esme's family dinner, I called Edward and apologized for my dismissive behavior. He said that his main concern was my wellbeing and wouldn't entertain my promises to make amends. Still, during the next night we spent together, I showed my "gratitude" for his understanding with my mouth on every part of his body. Wearing a tired, sated grin on his face, he said that my apology was accepted and well-received.

Since Edward moved here three months ago, that incident has been the only hiccup in our relationship. For the most part, we've spent our time together in the blissful haze of new affection. We haven't had a single argument. I dislike confrontation, and Edward seems to take everything in stride.

I once asked if he had been just as laid back in his various leadership positions onboard ships. He laughed and replied that he has a distinct command personality, which is significantly different than the way he is around family and friends. According to him, he can be extremely authoritative and intimidating when necessary.

I have yet to see any behavior remotely suggesting this sort of heavy-handedness. He's very loving and sweet, always looking out for me and spoiling me with small gestures of thoughtfulness. For instance, I once mentioned my love of vanilla-scented candles. The next day, several were burning in his apartment when I came over. There's always my favorite diet soda in the fridge, and he never fails to serve salad with dinner if he's the one cooking.

Of course, he doesn't realize why salad is such a staple in my diet. I eat a ridiculous amount; it's a guilt-free way to consume as much as I want. While still having difficulty fighting my urge to binge, I've further decreased the frequency to only two to three times per week, usually when I'm by myself. So far, I don't think Edward suspects anything, and I wonder if that's why we're doing so well as a couple.

In fact, a few days ago, he broached the subject of us living together. We were trying to decide our plans for the week and at whose apartment we would be sleeping each night. My place is farther away from Edward's job, so we alternate locations. As a consequence, our clothes and personal items are divided between the two. When he suggested we not "delay the inevitable" and start looking for an apartment or house together, I hid my panic by attacking his mouth with mine. A round of energetic sex distracted him from the matter at hand, to my great relief.

It's not that I don't want to live with him—I do. Not only that, I want to walk down the aisle, build a future, and grow old with him. But I'm petrified. Before we take the big step of moving in together, I feel like he needs to know about my past and present difficulties with depression, obsessive compulsive disorder, and bulimia. In all fairness, I should have told him already.

I do want my relationship with Edward to progress, and the only way that can happen is by letting down my guard and taking a chance. So, I'm going to talk to him tonight. I'll bring it up over dinner, which I'm making, and hope that he doesn't run out the door. Since it's a Friday night, I'll have all weekend to try putting myself back together if he takes a step back or leaves me completely.

As requested, Edward texts me that he's on his way so that I can time the food preparation to his arrival. Steak is on the menu tonight, and the attention it requires will keep me from shoving snacks in my mouth out of anxiety.

The timer dings on the rosemary roasted potatoes just as I finish wrapping the steaks in foil to let them rest. I spoon a helping of potatoes onto each plate beside steamed asparagus and pour the decanted red wine. I'm uncovering the steaks when the jangle of Edward's keys at the door's lock signals his entrance.

Spinning on my heels with two steaming plates in hand and an apron around my waist like a fifties housewife, I smile at Edward as he comes into the apartment. As soon as I see the expression on his face, however, my stomach clenches with worry. I set the food on the table and gape at him.

He's scowling heavily, and in his stormy eyes is a mixed frenzy of anger, sadness, and…dread? I'm terrified that his angst is directed toward me, but he crosses the room in a few large strides and pulls me close. The embrace he gives is tight and fierce.

"What's wrong?" I whisper into his shirt. "What happened?"

He sighs and rests his cheek on the top of my head. I can hear his heart beating loudly in his chest.

"Shit, I'm screwing this up already. I don't want you to get upset. It's not a big deal, when you think about it. Tens of thousands of people are in this situation every day, and some of them weren't expecting it, either. I mean, I always knew it was a possibility, and before I met you, I wouldn't have cared. Actually, I would've been enthusiastic, but now—"

"Edward," I interrupt anxiously, "you still haven't told me what's going on."

His arms tighten as if he wants to take me inside of him.

"My reserve unit's been mobilized. In three weeks, I'm going to Afghanistan. For a year."

* * *

**In January 2014, the Navy Reserve disestablished its Ready Mobilization Pool for involuntary recall purposes due to the drawdown of forces in Iraq and Afghanistan. In this story, however, the practice is still in effect.**

**So sorry that I've haven't updated in a while! My own Navy husband just came home from deployment on Friday, so I've been busy trying to get everything ready. Now I'm just gettin' busy. ;)**


	20. Chapter 20 - Penetration

**Chapter 20 - Penetration**

* * *

I glance at my phone, sigh, and begin wearing another figure eight pattern into the carpet of my living room. Each second that passes is marked by the unrelenting thud of my mocking heart. A scoff pushes its way out as a brief thought flashes through my mind.

Time.

Just another force that can be controlled only by stopping it forever. It's something of a Catch-22. On this occasion, however, I'm not looking for an escape of any kind, temporary or permanent.

I never seriously entertained the idea, but there were moments during the past three weeks when I had an urge to run from the relationship and its potential for heartbreak. A year is a long time to remain stagnant, and that's what would have to happen. Edward still doesn't know of my weaknesses; I haven't mustered the courage to tell him.

I've been trying to convince myself I'm doing what's best for _him_. After all, who would want to learn, just before leaving for a hazardous duty zone, that his girlfriend of almost six months has kept an important part of herself secret?

But the simple truth is that I'm selfish and afraid. I want to enjoy the little time we have left together. I also can't bear the thought of not talking to him during deployment, which could happen should he call off our relationship. I'm terrified for his safety as it is, and not knowing he's okay would be unbearable.

The jingling of a key in the lock causes me to freeze in place. Edward enters the apartment slowly and drops his shoulder bag on the floor. For an infinite moment, we stare at each other across the room. The significance of tonight hangs heavy in the air. My breathing quickens as the emotions I've held in check for three weeks threaten to overwhelm. Stinging tears blur my vision, but I don't want lose sight of him for even an instant.

This is our last night together. Tomorrow, he joins his reserve unit to fly overseas. Away from his country, family, and home. Away from me. For a year.

When I finally blink, drops trickle onto my cheeks. Edward sucks in a breath, and the spell is broken. He closes the space between us in three long strides and yanks me against his body, his actions rough and needy. I claw at the strong shoulders above me, trying to draw him closer still.

There's a frenzy of hands, hips, and tongues, each part of us yearning to meld and create one physical being—one that won't allow itself to be separated. There is no holding back, no retreating. I push into him with all my might, but Edward is stronger. My back slams into a wall, a loud thud marking the impact. Neither of us takes notice.

He angles my body and begins sliding me along the wall, toward my bedroom. I let myself be guided backward, though not feeling any particular desire to move. I'd have him against the wall, on the floor, the couch…the location is inconsequential to me. I just need _him_.

Clothes are a minor hindrance. They get ripped off in random order when required. I'm unbuttoning my blouse while falling backward onto the bed. My teeth release from his neck only long enough to tug his undershirt over his head. He's kicking his pants off even as his hands push open my thighs.

Without warning or preamble, he plunges into me, causing groans of satisfaction from us both. There's no gentle escalation of intensity; he's relentless from the start. The power of his thrusts sends me thumping into the headboard.

I could easily yield to his command, allow him to continue until he propels me up and over my peak. It would be incredible...but not what I want. I grab a handful of disheveled bronze hair, pull his head down onto the mattress, and use the distraction of his surprise to roll us over. With my fingers digging into his chest for purchase, I slam down onto his slick cock.

He gasps, his spine arching stiffly and his head tilting back. The sight of him responding so forcefully to my assault excites me further. Now I, alone, am in control, setting the pace, giving him pleasure, taking mine. I slow my movements to delay the inevitable and smirk bitterly. If only I had as much influence over his leaving as I do his coming.

Edward grunts in protest of my now-languid pace. His hands reach for me, but I pin them to the sheets. I'm not ready to give up control. With a swivel and scoop of my hips, I rub my clit over him, breathing heavily as it throbs against his heated skin. Back and forth I grind, moans of wanton ecstasy welling up from deep in my chest. My entire body twitches in anticipation of release.

"No you don't," Edward growls out. "We'll come together or not at all."

He throws me onto my back and pushes up from the bed. I let out a startled cry just before his mouth crashes onto mine. Almost simultaneously, his cock commences a punishing drive to our finish. My legs move of their own accord, wrapping around muscular thighs and anchoring me in place.

With every bone-jarring thrust, I take the wave of passion he releases and creep closer to complete surrender. The air around us seems to crackle with energy, and I've never felt so strong and vulnerable at the same time. The intensity of emotion shakes my core, and I'm confused, frightened. I want to run away, I want to pull closer. I want to take hold of the feelings and crush them in my hands, I want to drown in their alluring, obscured depths.

I want to fight, I want to surrender.

His eyes meet mine, translucent sea green to shadowed mocha brown. I gasp at the understanding and resolve I see there. He knows I've been holding back, he knows I've kept my heart guarded from full exposure. He's been patient, waiting for me to let him in. But now there's no time left. His intent is clear, his method instinctive.

Despite his apparent insight, I wonder if he's fully aware of his effect, the power he has over me. Does he realize that his burning gaze penetrates my soul? Does he know that he's pounding into more than my physical body, that my defensive wall crumbles further every time we connect? That I am his, completely—and almost ready to admit this truth to us both?

Never looking away from my face, Edward grabs hold of my hip and tightens his fingers to the point of welcome pain. I cover his hand with mine and make him squeeze harder still. I want the imprint of his hand branded on my skin, staying with me even though he can't. I want a visible mark of possession to match the one on my heart.

His unforgiving rhythm doesn't falter as he hardens and grows to his maximum, increasing the aching pressure between my legs. I'm almost there, swirling so close to relief, but I can't let go, not yet. Not without him.

When his eyes lose focus, I know he's near his finish. My breath catches as he moves higher over me, shifting just enough that the angle deepens. I can feel every inch of his cock as it moves in and out. He's so hard and thick, my body is so full…

"Bella," he rasps, "I wanted…but I can't wait…have to tell you now…"

He's about to come, no further words are needed except my reassurance.

"I know…me too…I'm ready…"

Glowing elation radiates from his face, even as his body tightens in preparation. "You too? Really? Oh, god…I—"

My sudden gasp cuts him off. "I'm c-coming…" In prolonged, uncontrollable motions, my walls contract around the cock that's buried inside, squeezing and pulsating, greedy for every drop of cum will spurt onto their surface.

Edward is quaking, his body wracked with tremors as streams erupt from his engorged flesh. Each forceful jerk elicits another surge of all-encompassing pleasure, and I cry out when the waves continue to expand through me. My senses are overwhelmed—I've never come so hard in my life.

Finally, the ripples settle and awareness returns. I take stock of the aftermath. Every part of me is sated and incapable of movement, except for my slowly decelerating heart and heaving chest. I'm coated in a slick layer of my sweat comingled with Edward's. The man himself has collapsed on top me, his semi-erect penis still submerged deep within.

His head rests on mattress beside mine, and I realize that lips are moving in my hair. His voice is soft and reverent.

"…hoped that you felt that way, but I wasn't sure. You've seemed a little distant ever since I got the mob order.* I wondered if I should wait to tell you, maybe until after I got back, but I couldn't…I just couldn't. And now, god, I'm so…_happy_ that you do, too. I love you, Bella, so damned much…"

He continues to talk, but my world has stopped.

Did he say that he…he…_loves_ me?

"…talk over the phone, Skype whenever possible, and I'll see about taking leave at some point. We'll make it through this, and when I get back—"

"You…love me?"

Edward inches his head closer to mine so his mouth is pressed to my temple. "Darn, how'd you guess?" he chuckles. "Yes, I love you."

My mouth opens and closes but no sound comes out. I'd wanted him to love me but never allowed myself to give in fully to the hope. I can hardly believe it, and yet it's impossible to doubt the sincerity in his voice, the shine in his eyes that I see when pulling back to look at him…

He really does love me.

For the second time that evening, tears dampen my face. I stretch out a hand and tangle my fingers in his hair before moving to touch my lips to his. I take his breath as mine and push away the last barrier to my heart.

"Edward, I love you, too."

* * *

*** Mob (pronounced "mobe") = mobilization**

**Sorry for the delay in posting! I was working on a monster chapter for my other WIP and then also scrapped a large portion of this chapter to go in a different direction. Hope you liked the end result. :)**

**Thanks to _Redtini_ for mentioning this story in her WIP Going Down! Check it out on FFN! :)**


	21. Chapter 21 - Diminution

**Chapter 21 - Diminution**

* * *

_Date: August 10, 2015_

_Subject: Re: New Email Address_

_It was SO good to hear from you again yesterday, even though I'm going to be spoiled by all the calls early on. :) I wish you were able to stay at the base in Kabul the whole year. From what you said and what I looked up online, it's obviously so much nicer and __safer__ than any of the places you might have to go. Plus, you'd be able to call me lots on your new cell phone!_

_We've talked about this before, but I have to say once more for the record that I think it's stupid for someone in the Navy to be deployed to Afghanistan. Okay, maybe the doctors, JAG, and Seabees, but you're supposed to be on a ship, dammit…in the water…hence being called a sailor instead of a soldier.* Yes, I know you'll be doing mostly leadership/admin/training stuff at established bases, but I still wish they picked an Army or Marine Corps officer instead of you. Or hell, even another Navy person…just not you. Anyone in the world but you._

_Okay, I'll lay off the whining. You're following your country's orders, and that's amazing. I'm so proud to be your girlfriend. I just miss you a ridiculous amount, already. The bed seems huge without you, and it's weird waking up without your heavy-ass leg squashing me, lol. I love you so much and wish we'd had more time, uh, __exploring__ that love before you left._

_I guess I'd better get to bed. That UAS project I told you about is going to be both time-intensive and stressful.* I can't be staying up all night writing to my wonderful man, no matter how much I want to. :)_

_Talk to you again soon._

_With all my heart, _

_Bella_

* * *

_Date: September 15, 2015_

_Subject: Re: A few pics from FTX*_

_Um…wow. Uh, yeah... Just so you know, I'm currently licking my computer screen._

_I'm not sure whether to thank you for sending me pics of yourself all hot and sweaty in PT gear or to curse you. Oh, the things I want to do to you right now, but I have months before I can. :( Do they allow conjugal visits over there? If so, I'm booking a flight asap! _

_I didn't realize there were females in your unit. Are there a lot on base? Curious as to what life is like for them over there. Who's the one with her arm around you in the first pic? _

_Work today was brutal. Eric screwed something up big-time, and it's going to set us back even further. I got reamed by three different people, which was just icing on the cake considering I'm already beating myself up about it. Yeah, it wasn't my fault, but it's still my responsibility to make sure we meet deadlines, no matter what._

_Other than that, nothing's new since I talked to you last night…or yesterday morning in your case with the 9 ½ hour time difference, which is really strange, btw. I hope you get a chance to call again soon (and don't worry about what time it is for me). I want to hear from you as much as I can before you leave Kabul to go…out there._

_As always, I love you so so much, and please stay safe,_

_Bella_

* * *

_Date: October 28, 2015_

_Subject: Thinking of You_

_Dearest Edward,_

_It's been two of the longest weeks of my life, and you've been on my mind nearly every moment of them. _

_I've been glued to all the news outlets, and since I haven't read about any incidents, I have to believe that you arrived safely wherever it was you were going and are okay. It's great to know you're currently doing humanitarian work instead of something more military-oriented, but I worry nonetheless. I can't help it—you're too important to me._

_Alice asked me over for dinner this past weekend. If you didn't already know, Jasper's out to sea for a few weeks, so it was just the kids, Alice, and I. It felt a little awkward being there without you, but it was nice of her to think of me. _

_Well, that's about it, I guess. Work is the same as usual. It takes up most of my time, but not enough. There are still too many hours left in the day to miss you and wonder how you're doing. I hope you're able to get in touch with me at some point soon—be it by phone, email, or magical owl—but I'd much rather you be overly cautious about your safety and security. _

_I love you more than anything,_

_Bella_

* * *

_Date: November 19, 2015_

_Subject: Re: Re: At Kandahar _

_Damn, I didn't hear my phone when you called earlier! I was so tired I don't even remember walking into the hotel room. The different time zone in Nevada has screwed me up, and it doesn't help that half of the UAS testing is conducted at night. On top of that, I'm spending way more hours on-site than I'd planned. Obviously, I can't give any specifics on how it's going, but the fact that I had to get behind a computer to fix things myself should give you a clue. _

_If you can, let me know when you'll try to call next, and I'll do my damnedest to be available._

_Love you._

* * *

_Date: November 26, 2015_

_Subject: Happy T-day_

_Sorry I missed your call…again. My phone must be acting up or something. Got home yesterday and have been trying to catch up on sleep before the hell that is work starts back up. Of course, your schedule isn't much better, so I can't complain. At least I don't have to worry about being blown up by the people I'm trying to help. _

_Hope you got a decent turkey dinner from the mess hall. I'll probably just throw a frozen meal in the microwave. I've never done much for this holiday, anyway._

_Since I plan to stick around the apartment for the weekend, I'm sure we'll be able to talk before you leave Kandahar for your next destination. _

_Until then…_

* * *

_Date: December 2, 2015_

_Subject: Re: Hey_

_Don't have much to say, just the same stuff on a different day. Hope you're doing well._

* * *

_Date: December 9, 2015_

_Subject: Re: Is everything okay?_

_I told you I was fine, and I'm sorta pissed that you sent Jasper to check on me. Yes, I'm busy and tired and stressed, but that's just the way things are. I'm dealing. Even if I wasn't fine, what's the point of telling you? There's nothing that you can do about it except worry, and you've got enough on your mind. At least, I'm assuming you do. You don't say much about how you're feeling, either. Maybe you should be the one Jasper's checking up on._

* * *

_Date: December 20, 2015_

_Subject: CALL ME_

_Alice and I had the most interesting conversation about you possibly being in town for New Year's. As you can imagine, I was rather surprised by this information. We need to talk, asap._

_-o-O-0-O-o-_

* * *

*** Diminution - the act or process of diminishing; lessening; a decease**

*** JAG (Judge Advocate General's) Corps – uniformed attorneys of the U.S. Navy**

*** Seabees – U.S. Navy's construction battalion**

*** UAS – unmanned aircraft systems**

*** FTX – field training exercise**

*** PT – physical training**

*** Mess hall – military cafeteria**

**Thanks SO much for the reviews! I'd intended to answer each one of them, but with this chapter already written in my mind, I wanted to get it down immediately! :) **


	22. Chapter 22 - Distance

**Chapter 22 - Distance**

* * *

With shaking fingers, I maneuver the arrow to the button and click the mouse.

And immediately regret it. I should have calmed down before sending the curt email demanding that he call me right away, but it's too late now. I slam the laptop shut in frustration. The sound reminds me of a gunshot—one caused by an executioner's weapon.

My eternal pacing resumes.

It's not very late—only nine p.m.—and that means sleeping aid pills will be required if I don't want to spend the next four hours worrying about Edward's reaction, fighting the urge to eat, or sobbing...or maybe all of them at the same time. Almost robotically, I stride into the bathroom and shake out two light blue promises of reprieve. The grogginess and need for copious amounts of caffeine in the morning will be small prices to pay for a measure of quiet inside my head.

Leaving nothing to chance, I pour a large glass of wine and choke down a healthy swig before setting it on my bedside table. Minutes later, a welcome numbness tickles my fingers. I've always been sensitive to the effects of alcohol, especially red wine.

My mind, however, has yet to be slowed; it's still replaying the phone call I received from Alice. She wanted to know if Edward and I were planning to stay in the apartment for New Year's or if we'd be interested in going out with her and Jasper. Although it took a few extra seconds to respond, I'm fairly certain I was able to mask my surprise—and terror—at the mention of Edward coming home unexpectedly. She didn't seem upset when I declined to give an answer, telling her I would have to discuss things with him first.

It's not that I don't want to see him—I do, so very much. I just don't want him to see _me_. Not now. The past two months have been the worst in recent years. The bulimic episodes, which had lessened in frequency when I started dating Edward, are occurring on a daily basis. I don't sleep well, and my mental state alternates between anxiety and apathy. Work—something I once enjoyed—no longer brings satisfaction. It has become a chore to be endured.

I've been affected by my inner turmoil both emotionally and physically. If I let Edward catch sight of my appearance, there's no way he would be oblivious to the changes. He's already noticed the weariness in my voice when we talk on the phone and the reserved tone of my emails.

During the last five weeks, I've managed to avoid video conversations with him (the few times he's had access to sufficient bandwidth) by making excuses or citing equipment failure. I can't bear the thought of him seeing me now, even just my face. That's hideous enough—with the dark circles under puffy eyes, swollen cheeks, and chapped lips. No need to nauseate him with the fifteen pound weight gain.

The tempo of my agitated march increases as I consider the irony. My bulimia stems, in part, from the fear of being heavy, yet I always gain weight when I binge and purge. If only I had the willpower to stay away from food, like anorexics do…

My fingernails dig into my palms, and I snicker in disgust. I'm such a failure I can't even pull off having the "right" kind of eating disorder.

I know what will happen if I continue to entertain these types of thoughts and so grab my wine glass to down its contents with one long pull. Thank goodness for low tolerance and terrible hangovers, or no doubt I'd be an alcoholic, as well.

Finally, I can feel the effects of the sleep aid taking hold. I chew an antacid and then trudge back into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The toothbrush is still wet from when I used it two hours ago. Although I can't stop purging, I try to minimize damage as best I can.

I'm rinsing my mouth when my cell phone alerts me to an incoming FaceTime call. I stand, frozen, through several rings, then force myself to leave the bathroom. I select the audio-only option on the app.

"Hey," I answer, my voice wavering from nervousness.

"Hey." He sounds as if he just woke up.

"Did you sleep in today?"

It's coming up on six in the morning for him, which is usually the time he arrives at the gym to exercise.

"Yeah, I decided to skip my workout this morning. Wasn't feeling it."

"Ah."

There's an awkward pause over the line. He sighs.

"So, I'm guessing by the tone of your latest email with its uppercase subject line that you don't want me to surprise you with a visit."

Hurt and rejection are evident in his voice, and my heart aches. I am compelled to reassure him, even if all I can offer are half-truths.

"It's not that I don't…it's just…I've got a lot of work to do…and also, I might be going out of town. My dad's been bugging me to come see him…but I haven't decided yet, so…"

"You might not want to wait too long," he murmurs. "Flights are usually pretty full this time of year. Expensive, too."

I cringe at both my lame attempt and his very valid point. He probably sees through my deception. Desperate, I try a different, but equally uninspired tack.

"You wouldn't to be around me right now, anyway. I've mentioned how grumpy I get around the holidays, and it's really bad this year. With work being such an incredible pain in the—"

"Bella, do you still love me?" The words are barely louder than a whisper.

"Y-yes!" I gasp, clutching at my chest. Of all the uncertainties in my life, all the doubts and confusion, my love for him is one of the few constants. "Of course I do, so much!"

"Oh. Okay, then." It's so, so quietly spoken, almost as if a louder volume might change the sentiment.

And then, once more, seven thousand miles of silence separate us. My increasingly sluggish mind flounders to come up with the right thing to say, something that will breach the growing divide. I almost wish he would get upset with me—chastise, yell, demand answers. His unspoken thoughts can't be any worse than what I imagine them to be.

There is very little I'd characterize as a fault in Edward Cullen. He is considerate, kind, and loving. And although intelligent and breathtakingly gorgeous, he's down-to-earth with his dorky sense of humor and easy-going nature. I often wonder why such an amazing person chose me.

Of course, he _is_ a human being, and thus not perfect. There are times, like now, when he's obviously upset but doesn't say anything, doesn't engage. He and I both are avoiding the issues, but whereas I try to talk around them, it often seems he chooses to pretend they aren't there.

"So, uh, what are your plans for today?" I ask when my discomfort with the lack of conversation becomes too much.

"The usual—go to meetings, make PowerPoint presentations, do paperwork—very exciting stuff."

I force a chuckle at the dry comment. "It might not be like the fieldwork you were doing last month, but at least you're in a safer place for now. I worry so much more when you're off base."

He makes a noise that sounds like a mixture of a scoff and a sigh.

"What?"

"Nothing," he responds in a resigned voice, then clears his throat. "Well, I need to get going now. But I do want to say sorry about the New Year's thing. I hadn't made any real plans—just kicked the idea around a bit with Jas. You've been sounding so…and I thought it might help if I…" He blows out a breath. "Anyway, I guess it's a good thing Alice let it slip—would've sucked to go all the way over there only to find out you were at your dad's, or whatever."

"Edward, I—"

"Sorry, I really need to go, or I'll be late to the morning briefing. I should be free this evening, my time, if you get a chance to call."

"I'll make sure that I do. I hope you a good day, and I love—"

But he's already hung up.


	23. Chapter 23 - Slipping

**Chapter 23 - Slipping**

* * *

_December 24, 2015_

_I have got to get a grip on this. I just don't know how. I don't want this stress, this pressure, this need to live up to some sacred ideal. I'm too afraid to fail, which is exactly what leads to my failure. _

_It all seems so simple: JUST LET GO. Let the pressure roll off. Get rid of the expectations and stop berating myself. Remember what I've got, and be thankful._

_But I can't. When I look into the mirror, all I feel is disgust. I hate what I've let myself become. I'm tired. So very tired of this._

* * *

_January 3, 2016_

_I'm getting fatter and fatter. I can't stop it. I know people are talking now. This food thing is ruining my life. Why do I want to eat until I burst? Why can't I get over it? Will I ever leave it behind? _

_It seems so simple: just don't put the food in my mouth. Just don't. Fucking simple. _

_So why does the urge overpower me? What is my mental problem? I want to drive a knife into my brain and slice out the part that makes me eat. I want to stab and cut and slash until it's gone. Until I have peace._

_Shove the food in your mouth. Fill your stomach. Try to end that ceaseless gnawing of hunger that has nothing to do with food. I'm sad. I'm weak for being sad. So I punish myself with food. Which makes me fatter. Which makes me sad and weak._

_It's a hopeless routine, the same actions over and over, repetition and recursion, an infinite program loop with no break statement, no way to get out. No way to make it end. _

_But I can end other things._

_I have to call this Edward thing off. I can't be with him. My life is a disaster, and it's not fair to drag him down with me. He deserves so much better. I can't control myself, and I'm crazy to think that it will ever change. I'm broken. My head isn't right. I need to get away from people. I deserve to be fat and unloved. Be weak, be a failure. Be ugly. Be fat. You are. FAT. UGLY. NOT WORTHY OF HAPPINESS OR SUCCESS YOU MUST RUIN IT. YOU MUST DRIVE YOURSELF TO THE END. YOU DON'T HAVE WHAT IT TAKES YOU NEVER WILL. YOU ARE WORTHLESS. YOU CANNOT GET AWAY. SO WHY HOLD OUT WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? YOU WILL ALWAYS BE PATHETIC—NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH ALWAYS FEEL STUPID ALWAYS WEAK. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE. MUST GET AWAY. MUST GET OUT. WHY? WHAT THE FUCK? I AM MENTALLY ILL. STOP EATING. DON'T EAT! DON'T EAT. DON'T EAT. DON'T EAT. DON'T EAT DON'T EAT DON'T EAT. FOOD WILL MAKE YOU FATTER AND FATTER. UGLY. UGLY. SO UGLY. FAT. BELLA, YOU NEED HELP. BUT WHERE? HOW. WHY?_

* * *

_January 9, 2016_

_My life is the most fucked up it's ever been. Over the years, decades even, I've bounced from high to low, and then lower still, but now it's functioning to non-functioning. I'm trying a few online therapy programs like my dad suggested, but it isn't helping a damn. I wish there was something out there to fix me._

_I'm scared. I'm so afraid life will never get better. What's the point of crying these tears? Why have I cried for so long? Ever since I can remember… What thing decided that I would be like this? Genetic material, a less-than-perfect childhood, a sadistic deity…bad luck? I just can't make sense of it all. I wish I could go back to where my life began and make me different. Or make me not exist at all. I don't want to do this anymore I am so tired of my life I hate each day I live there's no reason anymore i want to die _

_I really wish I could kill myself. I wish I could end this pain, but for some fucking reason, I can't bring myself to do it. Too weak to live, too weak to die. _

_I am losing touch with reality. It feels like I am slowly slipping away from society and the way things are supposed to be. I think it is only a matter of time…_

_At some point, you just have to make a decision. _


	24. Chapter 24 - Conviction

**Chapter 24 - Conviction**

* * *

The sun is fading from the sky when I finally pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex. The commute from Langley Air Force Base is normally a lengthy journey. Today, it took twice the amount of time because of a two-car accident that blocked a lane of travel.

Other than a slight overall stiffness that hardly registers, I'm indifferent to the late hour of my return home. It doesn't matter to me if I'm staring blindly into a sea of cars from the driver's seat or blinking up at the ceiling above my bed.

Nothing much matters anymore.

I still go through the motions of life: shower, get dressed, go to work, carry out my tasking, come home, climb into bed. I do that a lot now—sleep, that is. I have neither the interest nor the energy to do much else. In fact, the past week was free of binging and purging incidents simply because eating took too much unnecessary effort.

Letting out a quiet sigh that is lost in the sound of my car door shutting, I shoulder my messenger bag and head toward the building entrance. A few other residents pass me on the way to their cars, but my brain fails to process the visual information sent by my eyes. There's only one thing on my mind, and I intend to be asleep on it within ten minutes. I don't even need medication these days.

"Bella."

I turn my head at the distantly familiar voice and focus on a trim female in spandex leggings, a form-fitting top, and athletic shoes. Edward's sister, Rosalie McCarty, strides toward me at a determined pace. I raise my eyebrow at her choice of outfit and fierce expression. Perhaps she made the ninety minute journey from her house to dole out some justice in the form of physical punishment. If so, I wouldn't blame her.

"We need to talk," she says, breaking into a jog to catch up with me before I enter the building.

"Okay."

She stays close on my heels as we walk down the hallway to my apartment door and doesn't give me much room to fit the key into the lock when we reach our destination.

"Don't worry, I'm going to let you inside," I say.

She scowls and folds her arms across her chest. "That'll be a nice change from ignoring everyone's calls and visits."

My sole response is to shrug as I walk into the living room, leaving the door open for her to enter behind me. I toss my bag onto the messy coffee table, remove my winter coat, and throw the heavy garment over the back of a chair. Rosalie stands just inside the apartment, watching me get settled.

I'm looking at her expectantly from my seat on the couch when her eyes settle on my abdomen. They widen in shock.

"Holy shit…are you…? Is it…Edward's?"

"I'm not pregnant," I respond mildly. It's not the first time someone has misconstrued the reason for my weight gain.

"Oh. Uh, sorry," she mumbles.

Again, I only shrug. She has no idea that apologetic is the last thing she should feel. A more appropriate emotion would be relief that I'm not passing along my defective genes to an innocent baby. It's yet another reason why the decision to end my relationship with Edward was the right one. He'd mentioned his desire for children on more than one occasion.

I could never give him any. I'm not that cruel.

With my body sagged against couch cushions, I wait while Rosalie gathers the thoughts that were scattered by her self-perceived faux pas. It's easy to tell when she's ready: her face regains its hard and menacing expression.

"Listen, Bella, I have no idea what's going on with you," she glances around my cluttered apartment, "but the way you've been treating my brother is bullshit. He's really messed up because of you, and we're all worried. You know he can't afford to be distracted right now. If you ever cared about him—even a little—you'll do the right thing and give me some answers. Give _Edward_ some answers."

At the mention of his name, a spark of emotion flickers to life in my chest. It dies out quickly, though, like a tiny floating ember from a fire.

"I've already explained it to him. I don't see what else I can do beyond that." My defeated voice matches my posture.

"You 'explained it' through a fucking Dear John email!" she spits out angrily. "You didn't even have the balls or the _decency_ to call and tell him in person. What the hell? Didn't you think he deserved at least _that_?"

"He deserves so much more than I can ever give him."

Rosalie rolls her eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake. Cut out the martyrdom shit. You're no hero, and you're certainly not a victim."

"I know exactly what I am," I say quietly. "And I did what I thought was best. My most important goal was to end things as painlessly as possible."

"Painless for you, maybe! Edward, on the other hand, is fucking devastated. He can't figure out why things went to shit, and it doesn't help that you won't answer the phone or even respond to his emails. Fuck, I don't know you that well—not like my two brothers and Alice do—but I never pegged you as a goddamn coward."

Her stare is cold and penetrating, yet I gaze back impassively, allowing her make whatever assumptions she wishes. While there is a small, fundamental part of me that is terrified to be judged and found wanting, I can't muster the will to care.

After several moments, Rosalie shakes her head and scoffs, open disgust contorting her flawless features.

"You must be too stupid to realize what you threw away. It's the only thing I can come up with that makes any sense. Edward has so much to offer someone, so much good inside. Yet he's always held back, never showed any real interest…until you. For some reason, he fell in love with _you_, and his greatest wish became making you happy. That man would've moved mountains for the simple sake of putting a smile on your face.

"But then _you…_you strung him along and repaid his devotion with callous disregard and a fucking 'have a nice life' email. How could you do that to him? It's just so, so…I can't even…ugh, it makes me sick even thinking about it!" Her voice has grown loud, almost to point of yelling. She sucks in several deep breaths, attempting to calm herself.

I don't respond because there's nothing to say, nothing to add. Rosalie opens her mouth as if to continue her castigation; then she pauses, shakes her head, and tries again.

"Whatever, I'm done with you. Coming here was obviously a mistake. I thought I could make you understand how much you hurt him, maybe convince you to call so he could have a chance at true closure. But now I see just how much of a cold-hearted bitch you really are. There's no point in wasting any more of my breath."

She opens the door to the hallway and addresses me one last time, a sneer on her lips. "It sucks that Edward has to go through this, but at least he listened to me about waiting to propose. He had our grandma's ring and wanted to do it at the airport just before deploying. It would've been sad to see such an important piece of jewelry in _your_ possession. Looks like he dodged a bullet there, huh?"

"A big one," I agree, a tinge of surprise and heartache coloring my words.

Our gazes meet across the room, and for one moment, I think I see a flash of sympathy in her eyes. She sighs and steps into the hallway.

"You know, it's not too late to do the right thing and call him. Think about it, for his sake…please."

I remain motionless on the couch after she leaves. An indeterminate amount of time passes, and then my decision is made.

Rosalie is right. I owe Edward an explanation. He deserves to know that none of it was his fault. That he did nothing wrong. That I was the one who ruined us. He deserves to know everything.

Everything.

Based on the darkness outside, it must be late at night when I power on my laptop and open up a new Word document. Minutes bleed into hours as I type, my fingers flying over the keyboard. At times, heavy drops of wetness splash onto my hands, but the furious pace never relents. Now that a course has been set, I'm determined not to waste a single second. After all, I hate not meeting a deadline.

Even a literal one.

My eye goes to the clock, and by three a.m., the twenty-page document is finished. It could have been longer, gone into more detail, but the most important parts are there: my depression, eating disorder, troubled past, the hatred of self, my love for him...my deepest and most sincere apologies for the pain I've caused.

I don't allow myself to question, to reassess, to falter as I attach the file to an email and send it immediately. There's no need; I have no more doubts.

I close the laptop and stand up, ready to move on.

If my life were a movie, there'd probably be lachrymose music playing as I regarded my apartment one last time. Perhaps I'd caress a picture of Edward or lament over photos of my parents. Maybe I'd trudge to the hallway as if being pulled unwillingly to a fate I didn't really want.

None of that happens. Instead, I go to the door without a backward glance, shut it behind me without bothering to engage the lock, and walk briskly to my car. It will take a good forty-five minutes to reach my final destination, but the sun won't be up yet.

That's important, because I have no desire to see the light of another day.


	25. Chapter 25 - End of Time

**Chapter 25 - End of Time**

* * *

My mom once tried to describe to me the sensation of giving birth. I consider my imagination to be fairly healthy, and she was eager to give any and every detail about the process that she could remember. I was able to form a general idea in my head but realized the sensation of labor and delivery was something I couldn't understand without experiencing it myself.

Likewise, I've struggled to imagine what having "normal" thoughts must be like. How do people without a mental illness view the world? How do they see themselves? Do they feel the same sort of choking helplessness and overwhelming anguish as I do—but instead of succumbing to it, they're strong enough to push it aside, to beat it away?

I've tried to guess what a typical day might hold for a generally happy person. After all, I've had good periods in life when depression didn't rule my days. Yet, even then, an undertone of self-loathing and despair was present, lying in wait to latch on at seemingly unpredictable times.

Usually, its effect is to cause melancholy in varying degrees of severity. When the depression is particularly bad, gasping sobs will wrack my body. I feel like my heart is being crushed, burned, and ripped open—all at once. I have violent urges to run or scream or beat something. My soul becomes a balloon, filling up with gushing tears until its sides are stretched and straining from the effort of keeping it all inside.

Sometimes, it bursts: I explode into useless pieces, and an empty void marks the place where I don't exist. My body, mind, and soul become soaked in apathy. Every part of me will be numb. This has happened only a handful of times, and these occasions describe me at my lowest—uninterested in life, ready for permanent nothingness, with lethargy the only thing keeping me from seeking escape.

But not this time.

While Rosalie's visit had acted as a catalyst, her confrontation with me only sped up the inevitable. I've been sinking for too long. My head has stayed above the quicksand for this long only because of Edward. His brief presence in my life acted as a balm, a daydream in the midst of a nightmare, an analgesic for terminal cancer. He provided blissful relief when I needed it most.

But he wasn't a cure.

My remedy of choice is to be found at the bottom of a grain elevator located at an abandoned feed mill. It's located off the beaten path, isolated, in a rural area of the county, and more than tall enough to serve my purpose. I'd come across it by accident a few years ago, after getting lost on my way to a company think tank session. It fits my needs perfectly.

As early as my teen years, I'd decided I would go by way of jumping, instead of other methods. I don't want to suffer for long—so no wrist slashing or pill taking—and I can't risk any chance of survival, which might happen in a car crash or a badly aimed gunshot to the head. Jumping from an extreme height will be simple and effective. The journey down might not be fun but won't last long.

That's the most I can hope for in a situation such as this.

Though my body is shivering violently in the cold of late January, the only reason I notice is because my hands are unsteady on the frigid metal ladder that runs up the side of the tower. My mental numbness appears to be dampening physical sensation as well. It's probably a good thing, considering the temperature is below freezing and all I have on are the thin woolen slacks and lightweight knit sweater that I wore to work.

Rung upon rung, hand over hand, my pace keeps steady time with my heartbeat. I don't look down or to the side, always up—eyes toward my destination. The intensity of the wind's force increases the higher I ascend, and on occasion, either my fingers lose their purchase or a smooth-soled kitten heel slips on the ladder's worn tread.

About halfway up, my left foot doesn't quite clear the rung during its upward motion and its shoe is pulled off. I hear a few seconds of clanking as it bounces between the tower and the ladder during its fall. My height is significant enough now that I don't hear its eventual collision with the ground.

I find this to be a relief.

Kicking off the other shoe, I continue to climb. By the time I reach the top of the grain elevator, my limbs are stiff from cold, and I can't straighten my fingers from their curved position. The structure upon which I'm now sitting sways and shudders in the buffeting winds.

I stare out into the darkness, looking over bare agricultural fields, oddly-shaped residential plots, and swaths of dense forest. A few lights from houses and streets lamps dot the land on my right, and series of white circles move along black strings that snake toward the glow of the nearby city. While some people might find the sight beautiful or stirring, I am reminded that all of those points of light represent people who don't know me or care that I'm about to end my life. Of the billions of people in the world, I can't be positive that anyone will be upset about my passing. The distressing thought lends support to my resolve.

_You're wrong,_ whispers a tiny voice in my head. _Edward will be upset._ _He will care. Always._

"No. He cared about the person he thought I was. Once he reads that email, everything will be different. He'll be grateful that I took the initiative to end the relationship."

_Deep down, you don't believe that. _

"Yes, I do. I have to, or else...it doesn't matter, anyway. He can't save me from this. I won't bring him down with me. It's hopeless. _I'm_ hopeless."

_Maybe, maybe not. You've never gone into an intensive therapy program._

"I can't do that! I'll lose my job…everyone will know…and what if it doesn't help? What if I'm not successful? I can't handle the thought of that. It's too much. I'd rather not try at all than take a shot and fail at something so big, so important."

_What if you _could_ handle it? What if you didn't fail? Or what if you did, but could learn to redefine a "failure" as a growing opportunity? What if Edward wanted to stay by your side…if he was a source of strength and support through it all?_

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I scream into the night, clawing at the sides of my head. "I've thought through this a thousand times before. I talk myself into having hope, into believing I can get better, but nothing ever changes! I'm sick of going through the same shit over and over. Over and over and over! I've made up my mind—I'm done living in this hell. No more. It ends now!"

I lurch to my feet and step to the edge of the roof. The wind has died down in the past few minutes, and all is calm except for the frantic beating of my heart. I take several deep breaths to clear my mind. If there are only seconds left of my life, I want them to be good ones.

Unbidden, thoughts of Edward rise to the forefront of my consciousness. I smile. Much like the landscape below, my life has been dark, but points of light did exist. Edward was the brightest of them all, with his easy laughter and good-natured personality.

I think of those light green eyes, bits of smooth sea glass, always clear and open to me, patient and understanding. That's the image I focus on, the one I will take with me.

I suck in one more deep breath and blow it out. My eyes close of their own accord. My hands curl into fists. My muscles tighten in preparation.

I bend my knees, lean forward, and then…

Music plays.

Ghostlike, faint notes on the wind. A voice...

My body jerks in startled reaction to the unexpected sound. The movement causes my balance to waver, and for several long moments, I teeter on the edge of the tower, my arms flailing instinctively, fighting to keep me from going over. There's an instant when I'm hovering above the nothingness, when it seems certain that I'm going to fall, and I face the reality of my death.

And I realize: I don't want it.

"_No!_"

Using all of my feeble strength, I fling my body backward, away from the abyss, away from self-destruction, toward the safety of the roof. My legs slip out from under me, and I fall.

I'm not sure if the effort was too little, too late.

The jarring impact of my tailbone with the tower's edge sends pain shooting up my spine. I lose feeling throughout my body.

Did I bounce over the side? Am I now falling? Is this the end?

But my senses slowly return, and I'm able to recognize that I'm okay. I'm lying on my back, with the eaves of the roof digging in my thighs just above the knees, but I'm okay.

I'm okay…

I'm okay…

Without the strength to move away, I remain in that position for several minutes, my chest heaving from the adrenaline that had been surging through my veins. My mind is blessedly quiet, and I take advantage of the respite. There is so much I need to consider, so much to reevaluate, but for now, I do nothing except marvel at the recurring murmur of my heart.

The cadence is slowing, returning to its normal steady thrum. I listen intently to the sound, ignoring my aching, shivering body and the fact that I'm 175 feet in the air. It's such a peaceful rhythm, an ancient one. I can almost hear soft notes of a stirring melody haunting the air in accompaniment.

_And there's no mountain too high, no river too wide__  
__Sing out this song, and I'll be there by your side__  
__Storm clouds may gather, and stars may collide__  
__But I love you, I love you__  
__Until the end of time_

_Come what may..._

Entranced, I barely dare to breathe until the music cuts off abruptly. My swollen hands jerk to the deep pockets of my slacks and fumble inside. Meanwhile, a beep signals a new voicemail, quickly followed by two incoming texts. Eventually, my right hand declares victory and pulls out the cellphone I can't remember placing there. A crack cuts across the front, but it still lights up when I bring up the lock screen.

Three missed calls and six texts from Edward.

Calls from Edward…music…it was his ringtone that I heard, just now, and before…_Come What May_…_I love you…come what may…I love you…_

Tears blurring my vision, I try to key in the passcode, but the broken screen doesn't register my touch. I grit my teeth in desperate frustration; I've never wanted to hear his voice as badly as now. I _need_ to hear his voice. I have to get back to my house. I have to talk to him. I have to try to fix things.

I have to try. I will.

Turning over onto my hands and knees, I crawl to the ladder and look down over the side. The night is as black as ever, the ground still not visible. Panic bubbles up from my stomach into my throat as I maneuver onto the rungs. I can hardly believe that I climbed to such a height. I'm not at all confident in my ability to reverse the feat without injury—or worse.

I can't think of that. Not now. Everything's different now.

"One step at a time," I breathe, lowering a cold-numbed foot onto the first metal rung.

One step at a time.


	26. Chapter 26 - Disconnect

**Chapter 26 - Disconnect**

* * *

It takes over a half hour to work my way down the grain elevator's ladder. In addition to a stiff, frozen body, I suffer a debilitating case of vertigo that nearly causes me to lose my grip several times. My vision blurs and my stomach churns as I struggle to keep from blacking out. About six feet from the bottom, I just can't hold on any longer and go limp, falling the rest of the way down. The bone-jarring collision with the ground is painful, as expected. At the expense of a severely bruised hip and thigh, however, it does serve to clear my mind of cobwebs.

I'm not in any shape to drive home, but good sense is no match for my overwhelming need to call Edward. It's nothing short of dumb luck that I make the lengthy journey back without falling asleep at the wheel or causing an accident in the increasingly busy early morning traffic.

The weak winter dawn is just making its appearance when I stumble into my apartment and over to my home phone. Since I don't have an international plan on this line like I do on my cell, I dig a calling card out of my bag. It takes several tries for my trembling finger to punch in the correct code.

Finally, I achieve success and the call goes through. Sinking down onto the carpet, I lie on my uninjured side and curl into ball, the phone pressed tightly to my ear. But my high hopes diminish with each ring until the familiar voicemail greeting sounds.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Edward Cullen, Navy Reserve J7. Please leave a message, and I'll return your call as soon as circumstances permit. Thank you."

I hear the soft beep, but disappointment renders me brain-dead and mute. If there was an ounce of energy left in my body, I'd break down into sobs. Instead, I end the call, close my eyes, and succumb to my severe need for sleep.

o-0-O-0-o

I dream a collage of hazy, disjointed memories that slip away as soon as I bolt upright from the floor. Sometime during the fitful attempt at rest, my subconscious brought to light a very important fact. In my previous state of exhaustion, I'd forgotten all about the messages from Edward that are still waiting for me to retrieve. Using the coffee table for support, I pull myself onto unsteady legs and then teeter into the bedroom for my laptop. Between it and the home phone, I'm able to listen, read, and then put the two message formats in chronological order.

Voicemail, 4:30 a.m. EST: _(loud background engine noise, patchy connection)_ _"Hey, it's me. I r—…email, but for some reason I'm n—…it…"_

Voicemail, 4:31 a.m. EST: _"Sorry, the call dropped. I'm not sure how much of th—…got…"_

Text, 4:35 a.m. EST: _Dammit, I keep losing connection for some reason. I've only got a few minutes to write (I'm on a transport to the airfield), but I don't want to leave without letting you know I got your email. I was able to read the message text about you wanting to explain everything. My phone's having problems downloading the attachment, though, so maybe you could try sending it again? Thanks, E_

Text, 4:39 a.m. EST:_ Just checked a few more of my emails and saw one from Rose confessing what she did earlier today. I'm sorry she got involved. It's none of her business, and I'll make sure everyone else knows not to bother you, either. _

Text, 4:42 a.m. EST:_ Forgot to mention I'm not sure when I'll be able to get in touch with you again. I volunteered to go on another UN relief mission along with a group of Afghan forces, and there's no set date on when I'll be returning to base. I don't know how much of a signal I'll have where we're going. Hopefully, I'll be able to use my phone to respond after I've read what you sent—if you even want me to, that is. _

Text, 4:45 a.m. EST:_ We're sitting outside the helo waiting for the pilots to finish their checks. Hurry up and wait. Gotta love the military. Anyway, you always said I didn't share my thoughts with you enough, so here's what's going through my mind right now. I'm wondering about what you wrote and if explains why you insisted that we couldn't be in a relationship. You said that you loved me but didn't want to see me again. I've wracked my brain for the past two weeks trying to figure out why. I don't know how everything went so wrong, so fast, and I'm hoping the doc you sent will finally give me the answers I'm desperate to have._

Voicemail, 4:50 a.m. EST: _"My signal strength just went up, and I had to try one more time. I know I'm probably annoying the hell out of you right now, but…shit! I wasn't even thinking about what time it is over there. This is the last call, I promise. I just need to say that, whatever your reasons for not wanting to be with me, I still love you and will never stop hoping that you change your mind. I'd do almost anything for us to have another chance. Well, we're boarding the helo now, so…take care, and I'll try to get back to you as soon as I can."_

Text, 4:51 a.m. EST: _p.s. – I really do love you, Bella._

Text, 4:51 a.m EST: _p.p.s – Always._


	27. Chapter 27 - Choices

**Chapter 27 - Choices**

* * *

It would be so easy. If Edward never reads those twenty pages, I could tell him it was my disastrous experiences with Jake that caused fears of commitment and a fatalistic outlook regarding relationships. I could beg forgiveness for one of the worst mistakes of my life and plead with him to take me back. I could keep pretending to be normal, and he'd never have to find out about my issues.

After all, my near-death experience jolted me to the core. I don't ever want to be in that terrifying position again. Perhaps this newfound realization will be enough to overcome the eating disorder, or at least keep its effect to a minimum. It's possible that a stronger bond with Edward will help combat my depression. Maybe I can move forward with my life without having to take any steps backward.

Maybe.

I lie on my bed and consider my choices, ignoring the incessant phone calls from work that undoubtedly concern my unexplained absence. When a full bladder, empty stomach, and cramping muscles finally force me up, I discover that it's well into the afternoon, just before three p.m. I take a minute to massage the sorest parts of my body and then stagger out of the bedroom to a shocking sight.

My apartment has been in a state of chaos for the past month, but I neither noticed nor cared. For the first time, I truly see how neglectful I've been. Files and other material from work, rumpled clothes, absently discarded shoes, and other various items are strewn over most horizontal surfaces of the living room. A heavy layer of dust covers the rest. Dishes are piled up in the sink, and non-perishable food waits in grocery bags on the kitchen countertop to be put in the pantry. A very unpleasant smell emanates from the full trashcan.

I close my eyes and shake my head in contempt. The scene is an apt representation of my sickness: shameful and disgusting.

I fall into the chair Rosalie had sat in just the night before and stare into the mess. How had I slipped so far without noticing? Exactly when had the decline started? If I'm not able to identify the specific causes, how will I stop it from happening again?

I do know one thing. I can't continue on like this and risk another tight rope walk over death's chasm. I just can't. The next time could be my last. I don't want that.

I want to live. To get better. To break the cycle.

And so, gritting my teeth in an attempt to combat my rising terror, I reach for the phone and begin placing calls that will change my life.

o-0-O-0-o

It's too much. I stare at my plate with a mixed expression of disbelief and horror on my face.

"As we've discussed, your current weight is fine. This means you'll be on the basic diet program. For each meal, the number of items you must select will be indicated on the menu order sheet. Everything must be consumed, no exceptions."

Deb Ryder, one of the nutritionists, pushes my tray closer to me and indicates that I need to start eating.

"You can wear only one layer of clothes into the dining room, and no personal items are allowed. After a meal is over, there'll be fifteen minutes of a seated activity at the tables before patients are allowed to leave the dining hall. The staff checks trays, pockets, shoes, and other places on your person to make sure no food is being hidden for later disposal. As a reminder, toilets can only be flushed by staff members with a key."

I stab at the huge pile of broccoli and slowly lift a piece to my mouth. To me, there seems to be an excessive amount of food on my plate, and I have no idea how I'm supposed to get it all in my body…and then keep it there.

Deb reads my apprehension. "As I'm sure you've already been informed, breaking one of the rules—such as not finishing an entire meal—can result in loss of privileges like using phones and electronic devices, receiving visitors, using the shower, or even leaving your room."

Her no-nonsense tone gives further gravity to the statement, but I hardly pay attention. I'm too busy combatting my anxiety as I force a bite of apple down my throat. The driving need to run to the bathroom and purge increases with each swallow of food.

My first meal during my voluntary inpatient stay at Sheppard Pratt's Center for Eating Disorders (CED) isn't going well at all.

It's the last Friday in January, two days after I called my boss, Peter Cole, and told him that I was leaving work immediately for an indefinite period of time. His understandable reaction was a mixture of outrage and panic. I'd been in the middle of a consulting assignment for the Coast Guard, and my absence could end up costing my company the contract. There's a good chance I'll lose my job because of it.

I try to keep reminding myself that getting help is more important than anything else. I just hope that the abrupt choice to travel over 200 miles from home and check into this rigorous treatment program is the right one.

Other than talking to Peter and transferring pertinent work material to my very flustered replacement, there was surprisingly little to take care of before making the trip. I packed according to CED's list, locked up the apartment, and informed my parents while waiting to board the plane.

Dad didn't say much, but his disappointment was easy to hear in the few words he did utter. Before the call ended, he offered to take time off work to visit me at CED, but I told him it wasn't necessary. All the effort and hundreds of dollars weren't worth a few hours of awkward conversation in each other's presence. We could just as easily be uncomfortable over the phone. He seemed relieved when I insisted I'd be fine on my own.

Mom, however, broke into tears and then proceeded to lecture me on bad life choices. She promised to come as soon as she could reschedule appointments with her massage clients. But based on what I know of her, I would guess the odds are even on her following through. I wouldn't be surprised if she showed up unannounced to visitor's hours tomorrow but won't be disappointed if I don't see her at all. Mom tends lose focus when it comes to things not immediately in her line of sight. Because I can't give her a definitive answer on my length of stay at CED—it could be anywhere from two weeks to a few months—she'll probably procrastinate on making arrangements to come until it's too late.

Although my parents' rather underwhelming show of support does sting a little, it isn't unexpected. I'm used to their lack of presence in my life.

Of course, there _is_ one person I'd very much like to be in touch with, but Edward hasn't contacted me since his voice and text messages two days ago. I have no way of knowing if he's learned about my past yet, though I did paste the entire contents of the Word document into the body of an email and send it, along with an update on my current situation. His lack of response likely means that he doesn't have the capacity to send one; I'm almost certain he wouldn't stay silent on purpose.

Waiting to learn his reaction has increased the already high level of anxiety I'm experiencing during my initial hours at CED. It's certainly not making it any easier to eat my first full meal in days. But Deb's hawk-like stare is unrelenting, so I resign myself to the task, forkful by bland forkful.

Around me, patients are having their trays cleared by staff after being checked for hidden food. Eventually, I am the last one still eating. Deb moves me to a back corner of the dining hall while the others participate in an unenthusiastic game of Hangman.

"Five more minutes to finish your chicken," she announces, glancing at the large wall clock. "If you can't do that, you'll lose phone and computer privileges for tomorrow."

My stomach churns uncomfortably at the thought of being denied possible communication with Edward. A fine sheen of sweat gathers on my brow as I hurriedly cut the meat into pieces of required size. When this task is complete, I hesitate for a moment in dismay—it seems as if the amount I have to eat has doubled.

"It's not too much, I can do this," I mutter just before pushing a bite into my mouth. The chicken sticks to the sides of my throat when I swallow; water does little to wash it down. With an eye on the time, I chew the next piece quickly, and so on, until the plate is clear.

"Great job, Bella." Deb nods and then studies my schedule for the day. "It looks like you've got Cognitive Behavioral Therapy in a few minutes. I'm headed that way, so I can show you where it is."

She stands up, and I do the same, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in my abdomen. It's a futile effort, however, my tension rapidly increases. Within seconds, everything fades from my mind except for one thing: the desire—no the _need—_to rid myself of that dreaded full sensation. The edges of my vision blur, and my skin itches under my clothes. Clenching and unclenching tense fingers, I stare blankly at nothing, internally fighting a powerful foe that has owned me for years.

"Bella, are you coming?"

I open my mouth to answer but then quickly raise a hand to cover it. The food has risen, is right there, at the back of my throat, ready and waiting to be expelled at the first sign of weakness.

"Try to think about something else," Deb suggests, her arm reaching out to me. She has already identified my problem, probably because it isn't an uncommon one here.

I shake my head in warning and step away from her hand. Someone else's touch would only make things worse for me.

"Remember, vomiting warrants automatic restriction," she warns. "And you'll be required to take a liquid supplement as a replacement for calories lost. It's not worth it, I promise."

I stare at her in shock. Does she honestly think I'm trying to throw up on purpose? Doesn't she realize that I don't _want_ to fail, that I'm desperate to get better?

"Bella, why don't we go to—"

I don't hear the rest of what she to say. Despite all my best efforts, I can't prevent my shoulders from hunching, or my body from doubling in half, or my stomach from heaving its contents onto the smooth concrete floor.

Over and over I retch, until the only thing coming from my mouth is a broken sob of defeat.


	28. Chapter 28 - Realities

**Chapter 28 - Realities**

* * *

Her bright blue eyes shine with kindness, and she never fails to greet me with encouraging words and a warm smile. If not for the thinning dull hair, sunken cheeks, and skeletal frame, I'd think she was one of the staff instead of a patient.

"Did you make weight today?" I ask, placing my tray of breakfast food on the table.

"So close," Jessica replies cheerfully. "I only gained 0.18 kilos. No phone or visitors for me again."

My brow furrows in consternation. "Seriously? You were short by _20 grams, _yet they're still punishing you? It's not your fault—you ate everything you were supposed to yesterday."

True to her nature, Jessica merely shrugs before taking a bite of her cereal. "Eh, that's life. I don't make the rules. Apparently, I just break 'em."

"With the amount they have here, it's almost impossible not to," I grumble. "I'm not a rebel or anything, but some of them don't make any sense to me. Why can't we put mustard on our fries or dip the rolls in gravy? As long as the entire sandwich ends up in the stomach, what does it matter if someone wants to eat the bread separately from the meat?"

We both know the center's stance on "normalizing" eating behavior, so she lets me vent without interruption.

"At least food options aren't that bad," I finally concede. "I'm lucky they had brownies for dessert last night. I'm not sure I could've caught and re-swallowed something like jello."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you did that!" the 19-year-old girl giggles. "Even though I was completely grossed out, I have to give you credit. You were totally set on keeping it all down, even if it took more than one try."

"I _am_ getting phone and computer privileges tonight, no matter what it takes." My voice is rife with determination. I can't go another day without checking to see if Edward has responded.

Since lunch three days ago, I've vomited involuntarily two more times. As a consequence, I haven't had access to any form of communication. Electronic devices are off limits until I make it through three consecutive meals without regurgitating any part of it.

I had a close call yesterday evening when my stomach began heaving midway through dessert. Two slimy brown lumps were expelled onto my plate as a result. Without taking time to think, I shoved them back in my mouth and gulped down some milk before any of the staff noticed.

"You definitely deserve your phone after that epic feat," Jessica agrees. "I hope you have an email or two from Edward. Maybe you'll even be able to talk to him tonight!"

I manage a watery smile that doesn't do much to disguise the worry coursing through me. "I'm nervous that he did write or call and is now wondering why I haven't responded."

"He sounds like a smart guy. I'm sure he'll figure out that there's a good reason for it." Her eyes drop to my mouth, and she tilts her head. "Hey, you're doing it again."

"Dammit," I sigh, pulling my left hand away from my face and sliding it under my thigh. "Thanks."

I've taken to chewing on my fingernails out of anxiety, and the cuticles have begun to crack and bleed. If it's not one bad habit, it's another, although I suppose it could be much worse. At least this isn't likely to kill me.

Jessica puts her spoon down and glances shyly at me. "Um, Bella? I was wondering if maybe…could you do me a favor tonight?"

I look at the young woman, who is absently sliding her empty yogurt container back and forth across her tray. She appears nervous, which is something I haven't seen from her before.

"Yeah, of course. What is it?"

"My mom's coming by tonight—she does every Monday and Thursday whether I'm off restriction or not. I guess she wants to feel near me or something like that. I don't suppose, maybe, you could maybe hang with her for a few minutes…just so she has some company?"

There is such sadness in her eyes, and it's all I can do not to get up and give her a hug. But I know such an action would make the staff come running: patients aren't allowed to touch one another except when authorized.

"Sure thing, Jess." I infuse my voice with as much sincerity as possible. "I'd love to. What's her name?"

As we finish our breakfast, Jessica tells me a little about her mom, Sandra. It's a bittersweet tale describing a single parent who has always tried to do her best as a mother, but feels helpless in the face of her daughter's illness. She wishes she could visit more often but now works a second job to afford the copayments. Jessica's eyes become watery when describing how she hates being the reason for her mom's long working hours.

A sympathetic look is the most I can give her with staff members keeping watch for rule infractions. It's an odd position for me to be in. I'm a nationally renowned, highly accomplished member of my field who has the respect of senior members of the military. Yet in this facility, I'm not allowed to mix two different kinds of cereal in the same bowl. I feel as if I should assume a mentorship role with Jessica, given my greater age and life experience, but I'm floundering when it comes to these disorders just as much as she is—if not more so.

I do manage to sneak in a squeeze of her hand when we leave the dining hall to begin the day's therapy sessions. On my schedule are Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, Self-Esteem, Art Therapy, and Movement Therapy groups. There's also an individual appointment with Dr. Carson, a psychiatrist who started me on a combination of Wellbutrin and Effexor two days ago. He wants to make sure I'm not experiencing any unusual side effects from the antidepressants, which I don't seem to be at present. He reminds me that it can take up to several weeks to determine if the medication is helping and if changes need to be made in either amount or type.

Although it's a busy day, it seems to move slowly. Out of consideration for Jessica, I try to rein in my excitement during lunch, but she leads the way in celebrating another successfully completed meal. By dinnertime, I'm nearly vibrating in anticipation. Jessica laughs as she sits down in front of her tray.

"So, I decided my favor was way too much to ask at a time like this," she declares with a smile.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm saying it's cruel and unusual to make you hang with a stranger when you're one countdown away from blasting into orbit."

I grimace at her unfortunately accurate observation about my current state. It's a little embarrassing that I'm acting less mature than my teenaged friend.

"No, it's fine. In fact, I really do want to meet Sandra. I'm looking forward to it."

"Yeah, I'm sure it's right up there with a phone call from _him_."

The dubious look on her face makes me laugh.

"Honestly, Jess, your mom sounds like an amazing person, and I'd love to say hello."

When dinner is finally over, I track down my contact person—a staff member daily assigned to me if I want to talk or have an issue that needs attention. However, the nurse in question is having a serious discussion with a teary young girl, so my request must wait.

I debate whether I should see if a computer is available to check my email, but a glance at the time shows that visitors' hours will begin soon. I'd rather postpone until after meeting with Sandra than have to walk away from any messages Edward might have sent.

The Day Area room is buzzing with low voices when I enter. We have the evenings free for quiet activities of our choosing, as long as we haven't been placed on restriction. Some people watch TV, some read or use electronic devices, others chat in small groups.

No one is standing; the majority of patients are underweight—some dangerously so—and because of this, we are required to sit at least 50 minutes out of every hour, except for during Movement Therapy class. Of all the rules, I dislike this one the most. Pacing helps alleviate my anxiety to a certain degree, and not being able to do so causes even more frustration. Last night, I was given Ativan, a benzodiazepine, for relief of my highly wound tension. The drug caused such drowsiness that I fell into bed at 8:30.

Without any such assistance now, it's difficult to sit still and wait for Sandra to arrive. I see a daily newspaper on the table beside me and absently browse through the pages. Only a few days have passed since my admittance, but already the world outside of these walls seems like a different reality, like the waking memory of a hazy dream.

I come to the middle of the first newspaper section, and then everything stops.

The news item is only a handful of lines long, as if the story was an afterthought or space-filler. The headline is printed in a small font, and there is no accompanying photograph. It makes no difference: my eyes are immediately drawn to text as if it were backlit by flashing neon.

**_Adverse Weather Conditions in Afghanistan Leave Hundreds Dead or Missing, including 5 Missing U.S. Military_**

_An estimated 200 Afghanistan citizens have been killed and over 500 are reported missing after heavy snow, avalanches, and widespread flooding conditions began plaguing the Central Region on January 18. Afghan troops, U.S. military personnel, and U.N. humanitarian organizations have been in the area for several days to provide aid to affected districts. Five U.S. military personnel are missing after an avalanche buried a convoy carrying relief supplies. Names have not been released, but reports indicate that the service members are U.S. Army and U.S. Navy Reserve personnel._

For several endless moments, I sit frozen, unable to move or even breathe. The words on the page blur and swirl, and I wonder if the newspaper is actually a delusion of my mind, containing fictional stories about an imaginary world—one that doesn't exist. It _can't_ exist, because I refuse to think about a reality in which Edward comes to harm.

If that was to happen, I'm not sure I could handle it. Not now. Oh god, not now.

I begin to hyperventilate.


	29. Chapter 29 - Rescue

**Chapter 29 - Rescue**

* * *

_no no no no no_

"Bella…"

_no no no no no_

"Just breathe normally, okay? Regular breaths, nice and slow…"

_noooooooo_

"Should I give her more lorazepam?"

"Are you kidding? We're not trying to bring down a horse. Just give it time to kick in. Remember, an IM injection takes about as long to show an effect as oral."

"What about the hyperventilation mask?"

"Keep it on for another minute. I think she's calming down."

Hearing is the first thing to normalize as the rushing noise subsides in my ears. My nerve endings come to life next, and I sense that I'm lying on a thinly carpeted floor.

"Bella, can you open your eyes?"

I struggle to comply, but my eyelids feel heavy and stiff. There seem to be two shadowy figures bending over me. I can't make out any of their features.

"It's alright, hon, take your time with that. Do you feel pain anywhere?"

They remove the mask from my nose and mouth. I try to take stock of my body, but it feels as if my head is full of mud and all my thoughts must slog through a vast mire to reach their destination.

"I…think I'm okay." My voice is low and raspy, my mouth is dry. "What…happened?"

I'm able to discern a worried glance exchanged between the two nurses. Their faces are in much sharper focus now.

"We were hoping you might be able to tell us," says the younger-looking female—Kendra, according to the breast pocket of her scrubs.

"I don't…I can't…"

Drowsiness weighs down my memories and colors them dark shades of gray. There's a buzz deep inside my mind, a low vibration. It makes me think I'm forgetting something, that I'm missing an important piece of information—maybe more than one piece. But the pull of sedative is too strong to overcome, and I can only blink in confusion.

"Don't worry, hon. We'll figure it all out later, okay?" says the other nurse...Kate, I think. "There's a wheelchair here; can you help us get you into it?"

With their assistance, I'm able to stand and maneuver into the seat. My head is heavy on my neck. It lolls from side to side as they wheel me out of the Day Room. I see blurry forms of fellow patients standing off to the side, openly curious about the evening's disruption.

"Oh my god, Bella! What's going on? Are you okay?"

Jessica's concerned voice echoes though the hallway. She ignores a warning from Kendra to stay back and keeps pace with the wheelchair. I concentrate on her wide blue eyes and try to organize my thoughts. For some reason, I feel the need to ask for her help. She knows me better than anyone else here. Perhaps she can figure out what's wrong and, even better, how to make it right.

If only I wasn't so tired…so sleepy. The sound of my heartbeat grows louder until it drowns out the rest of the world.

"…the paper…Jess…in the paper…find out…please…"

The wheelchair is pushed into my room. One of the nurses shuts the door to the hallway, and then they help me onto the bed. My eyes close immediately in dutiful submission as I collapse onto mattress. Whatever it is I need to do will have to wait.

o-O-0-O-o

I run as hard as I can, leaving trails of cold breath in my wake, but the thundering waves of white rush forward, bearing down on my insignificant form. Unerringly relentless, they won't be denied their prey. They swallow me up in their midst, engulfing me, burying me, suffocating me. My frenzied struggling is useless against their crushing force, and I have no choice but to surrender. As I am folded within the swells, a feeling of bleak finality settles in my bones, and with it, an all-encompassing stillness that stretches outward through the infinite.

But then comes a last hope: the faint sounds of muffled footsteps high above my wintry tomb and single forlorn voice, calling out my name. I try to respond. I yell back with everything in me. I scream and I cry and I plead. But heavy snow spills down my throat; my words collapse under the stifling weight. Emptiness descends once more, and there is nothing. I am nothing.

_"Edward!"_

I sit up with a start, my heart racing and my clothes drenched in sweat. Panic squeezes my chest as I kick the tangled sheets away from my legs and try to separate fiction from reality.

"Bella, it's Nurse Kate." The creaking of the door causes me to look across the room, where a female form enters from the dimly-lit hallway. "I'm going to turn on your bedside lamp, okay, hon?"

She begins taking my vitals the moment light splashes across the bed but doesn't get very far in the process. My head has cleared enough for awareness to return. I rip my arm out of her grasp and slide off the bed.

"Edward—he might be missing!" I cry. "I need my phone! I have to call Esme or Alice or—"

"Bella, calm down," Kate says firmly as she presses the call button that signals the nurses' station. "If you can't do that, we'll have to sedate you again." She takes a step toward me, but I wave her off with my hands.

"No, don't! Just—listen…I have to find out what happened. Please, just let me get in touch with his family. _ Please!_"

The door opens again, and a man walks through this time. It's Dr. Cho, the psychiatrist who performed my initial evaluation the day I arrived. He's on the younger side but I recall him having a quiet, unassuming manner that was comforting. I'm ecstatic to see that he's on-call tonight. He can help me. He has to.

"Dr. Cho, I need to know about Edward!" I gasp as he approaches. "Do you remember me telling you about him—the Navy officer in Afghanistan?"

"Yes, Bella, I do. How about we sit down and talk about him?" He pulls a chair up to the bed and gestures for me to have a seat.

"No! I can't sit right now. I can't talk, either. I just can't…do _anything_ until I find out if he's okay or not."

His apparent lack of concern enrages me. All the stress and frustration and anxiety that's been building up in me for weeks is coming to a head; my skin won't be able to contain it much longer. What little control I have over my emotions is slipping rapidly.

Dr. Cho must see this and nods his head. "I understand, and I want to help. But it will be easier on you if you relax a little first. I'd like to give you a dose of Ativ—"

"No, it makes me too drowsy!" Why can't they understand what it is I need? It's all I can do to keep from ripping my hair out or punching something…or someone. "If you want me to calm down, give me my goddamned phone!"

The doctor's dark eyes seem to assess me carefully for a moment, then he looks over to Kate and tilts his head toward the door. Her lips twist into a strange half-grin as she rushes out of my room.

"Nurse Thompson will be back in just a few minutes with your phone and one other…thing. While she's doing that, though, I need to tell you something."

I barely hear a word he says after I find out I'll be reunited with my phone. Numb hands twitch at my sides, desperate for an occupation, as I consider the best course of action. I'll take a shot in the dark and try Edward's number first. Perhaps I've gotten worked up over nothing. After all, it's possible his mission was in a completely different region than the ones devastated by weather. Or maybe he's already returned to a main operating base. He could be relaxing in bed or hanging out with friends at this very moment. My frenzied pulse slows as I take this hope and grab onto it tightly.

"…to confirm, the person you want to see is Edward Anthony Cullen, born June 20, 1980—correct?"

I hear the inflection of a question in Dr. Cho's voice and make myself focus on what he's saying.

"What? Edward? Yes, he's the one I told you about. I'm worried something might have happened to him in Afghanistan, and I need to—"

My eyes widen, and the sentence trails off into astonished silence as the door to my room slowly opens. My mouth gapes open.

There, standing at the threshold, wearing wrinkled clothes and an anxious expression on a stubble-covered face, is the very man I've been so worried about.

It's Edward.

He's here.

* * *

**Ativan = brand name for lorazepam**


	30. Chapter 30 - Here and There

**Chapter 30 - Here and There**

* * *

About twenty feet of space separate me from where Edward is standing, but it's not enough. I close my eyes and take a step backward, using the wall as support for my shaking body.

I must be hallucinating—it's the only explanation that makes sense to me. There's no way he can truly be here. No, Edward is in Afghanistan; his messages from less than a week ago proved as much. He's too many thousands of miles away, possibly missing in action, possibly still believing that I don't want to be with him.

"Bella…"

Dr. Cho's voice is low and soothing, indicating his presence just off to my left side. I flinch when he puts a hand on my arm.

"Please don't give me any more drugs," I whisper, my eyes still clenched shut. "I think…I think it's making me…_see things_."

There's a muffled gasp from across the room. I hang my head in shame.

"What sort of things are you seeing?"

The name is on my tongue, but I can't seem to produce any sound. I don't want to hear Dr. Cho confirm my psychosis—I want to hold onto the impossible notion of hope for as long I can. Even if Edward's presence here is just a figment of my damaged mind, it's better than not seeing him at all.

"Bella, was it a person that you saw?" Dr. Cho prompts further.

I nod and force myself to speak.

"It was…Edward. He was standing in the doorway."

There's a long, silent pause.

"Okay, then. Let's say, for a moment, that it really was Edward…that he's actually here now. What would you do? Would you be able to handle talking to him? Being near him?"

I'm confused by the line of questioning but answer with complete sincerity.

"Of course! I want to see him again_ so much_. But, even more than that, I need to know that he's safe." Hot tears burn behind my closed lids and drop to the floor. "God, there's so many things that I _want_—to touch him again, kiss him, beg for forgiveness, tell him how much I love him. But the only thing that really matters is that he's okay and comes home without injury, even if it's not me he's coming home to."

"Oh, _Bella_…"

That hushed, anguished voice doesn't belong to Dr. Cho.

My head snaps up, my eyes open, but tears are blurring my vision. I swipe a hand across my face, frantic and desperate.

"Edward?"

Dr. Cho tightens his grip on my arm and steps in front of me, blocking my line of sight.

"I need you to pay attention to me for a moment, Bella." He ducks his head to catch my gaze. "I'm bending the rules by bringing him back here, especially after hours. If, at any point, I'm not comfortable with what's happening, he'll have to leave. Do you understand?"

I stare up at him in disbelief. "He's…really here? Edward?"

"Yes, Edward's here. But before this goes any further, I need to know that you understand the conditions of his visit."

My head bobs up and down even though I've already forgotten what he said.

"He's here, he's here."

I repeat the words over and over, hoping that if I keep them on my lips, they won't disappear into fantasy. Then, abruptly jerking my arm out of Dr. Cho's grasp, I steel myself against disappointment and step away from him, toward Edward.

He stands there across the room, just inside the door, his arms hanging limply by his sides. The muted light from the bedside lamp casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting his features and giving him an almost ethereal glow. But I notice this only in passing; my focus is on the expressive eyes that have always served as a source of comfort for me, a safe harbor. There is much in them now: limitless warmth and welcome, much relief, a little worry.

But there is no judgment.

I wonder how I ever could have thought there would be.

One of his eyebrows twitches up in cautious inquiry, and his hands inch forward as if reaching for me. It's all the invitation I need. With a strangled sob, I close the distance between us, running into his arms and crashing home into his chest. My tears begin again, but now they are born of joy.

He doesn't say anything; he just folds me into his body and presses me close. His face is buried into the top of my shoulder, and I feel warm dampness on my shirt. I pray that his tears are happy ones, as well.

I don't know how long we remain ensconced in each other's arms, expressing the deeply emotional state of our reunion through a choking embrace, but eventually, Dr. Cho clears his throat.

"Bella, how are you doing now?"

"Perfect," I say quietly, but with feeling.

"That's great to hear." His words are earnest. "Make sure you let one of the staff members know if you feel another panic attack coming on or have any other concerning symptoms. Mr. Cullen, I can allow you to stay for another half hour, but any further visiting needs to happen during the designated hours. The rest of us will clear out now, but the nurses' station will continue monitoring the room on camera, as usual. Before we go, do either of you need anything or have any questions?"

Both Edward and I mumble some sort of negative response, and then I hear soft footsteps and the creaking of the door as it closes. I reluctantly pull my head off Edward's chest and glance around. We are indeed alone in the room.

"So, uh, do you want to sit down? You could have the chair…or sit on the bed…or whatever." I let out a shuddering breath and try to quell my sudden nerves.

"Yeah, come on," he murmurs, leading me to the bed. He positions himself against the headboard and seats me between his legs, my back to his front. His arms wrap around my middle, and he nuzzles into my hair.

"I've missed you so much," he sighs.

"Me, too." I cross my own arms over my body and entwine our fingers. "And I'm _so_ thankful that you're okay. When I read about the missing U.S. troops…"

"I'm thankful, too. It could easily have been me," he says grimly. "I haven't heard the names of the five yet, but there's a really good chance one or more is out of my unit. We went to Panjshir Province, one of the harder hit regions, and there was a serious avalanche in that area a few days ago."

"God, I feel like a bad person saying this, considering the dire circumstances over there, but I'm so glad you left when you did." I turn so that my forehead rests against his cheek. "How…?"

"Well, I read the email you sent last week, but I couldn't download the attached Word doc. As we were getting ready to fly out of Kandahar, I called and texted to let you know—did you get the messages, by the way?"

My heartbeat accelerates as I dip my head in a nod. I'll tell him how important those messages were when we have more time.

"Okay, so, I kept trying to download it when we were up in the air and got lucky. I didn't have time to read it, though, until after we'd set up camp in Panjshir. But when I did…_God_, Bella…it was so...I just couldn't…" He squeezes me tighter, his voice becoming thick with emotion.

"I wanted to leave right away to go to you, but my commanding officer said there was no way in hell he'd let me, not when help was needed so badly for rescue ops. I knew he was right but was still devastated by the decision. But then, the next day as I was helping the Afghan forces organize search and rescue teams, a large number of troops from the Kabul base showed up. The Afghans on-site got anxious with so many foreign military members around, and it was decided to send some of us back. My commander made sure I was on the list to go and approved two weeks of leave.

"When I got back to base and had a phone signal again, it was Friday. I tried calling you, but it only went to voice mail. Did you…?"

"I, um, didn't have my phone for the last few days. I just got it back today—actually, I guess that would be 'last night,' at this point. I haven't checked it yet, though. I was going to, but…"

Edward squeezes me again. "I know. They explained to me what happened. Of course, it could've been avoided if they had passed on my message to you. I called yesterday to find out about visiting procedures and to make sure you knew I was coming, but they said it was against regulations to take messages from non-family members."

I can feel a slight rumble in his chest as he growls his displeasure.

"What did they say happened?" I ask, curious. "I wasn't able to tell them why I was so upset before I, um, passed out and then got drugged."

"From what I understand, one of your friends figured it out and told a nurse, who forwarded the information to Dr. Cho. Luckily, the staff member who had taken my previous call overheard their conversation and let them know that I was alive and well. Apparently, they'd planned to let you call me in the morning, but then I showed up to visitors' hours. Dr. Cho came out to explain the situation and said that, if I wanted, I could hang around and see you when you woke up. Naturally, I jumped at the chance."

"And here you are," I murmur, awed by his concern and everything he did to make it to my side. It's almost impossible for me to believe he's still so dedicated after how coldly I rejected him.

Edward uncurls his arms from around me and indicates that I should turn. Once I'm facing him, my thighs resting atop his, he takes my hand and places it over his heart.

"And you're _here_. Bella, I love you so much, and that hasn't changed for me. Yes, I was hurt by the way you ended our relationship, and I wish you hadn't been so afraid to tell me the truth. But I realize that I made mistakes, too. I should've been more open with you when I saw things were going downhill. Instead, I closed myself off, which meant that you were shut out. I also should've tried harder when—"

"No, don't. Don't do that." I shake my head vehemently and put my other hand on his chest. "Don't blame yourself. Everything that happened—it was all on me. Not you."

"Bella—"

"No, Edward, _please_. Don't go easy on me. I need to take responsibility and make myself better so that, one day, I can feel like I deserve your love again."

He quickly opens his mouth to reply, then pauses to weigh his words more carefully.

"I don't view love as…something one has to deserve. I think it should be given freely, and without conditions. When it comes to you and me, well, maybe the relationship part could use some work, but there's nothing you need to do, or not do, for me to love you. It's already there."

The sincerity in his voice leaves me breathless, and my eyes begin to water yet again. Edward brushes the drops away with his thumbs before slowly leaning toward me. His lips move over mine with the softest of touches; a sweet, reverent kiss that causes my chest to ache. It is perfect and pure, full of affirmation and promise. It tells me everything I need to know.

Edward loves me and will never give up on us.

From now on, neither will I.

* * *

**Sorry this one took so long - hubby's at sea again, and RL's been busy! Plus, I'm trying to spend time reading in preparation for the Twi Fic Meetup next month. I can't wait to go to my first Twilight get-together! If you haven't yet heard about this, check it out at www dot twificmeetup dot com. 53 days and counting... **


	31. Chapter 31 - Love and Support

**Chapter 31 - Love and Support**

* * *

"What does the man in the moon do when his hair gets too long?"

Silence.

"Eclipse it!"

A groan.

"Okay, okay. Let me think. Maybe something a little raunchier? How about: what do you call a masturbating bull?"

"Hmm…beef jerky?"

"Ooh, the contestant is so close. The answer we're looking for is 'beef stroganoff.' But thanks for playing."

Although Edward is trying to keep a straight face, I can see the corners of his mouth twitching upward. It's the break in his stoic demeanor that I've been waiting for, and I pounce on the opportunity.

"Hey, don't laugh. It's a perfectly natural thing. All male bovine do it." I get down on all fours, make fists out of my hands to simulate hooves, and begin pleasuring my imaginary bull penis. "Moo, Moo, MOOOOO!"

It's enough to send him past the point of no return.

"Oh my God, Bella, stop it!" he gasps out in between peals of poorly-restrained laughter. "Someone's gonna look over at us."

I glance over my shoulder, spying a small group of people across the room. They face away from us and seem to be engrossed in conversation.

"Eh, they're doing their own thing. And so what if they look? It doesn't change the fact that you cracked first!" I jump to my feet and shake clasped hands in the air. "Victory is mine!"

"Ugh, fine," Edward concedes in a huff, though he's still chuckling. "You win…this time."

"Aw, sweetie, don't worry about me being funnier than you. I promise not to get too _cocky_ about it." My hand-hooves reappear to make a few more stroking gestures.

"Good Lord, I've created a monster!"

We share another laugh as I move my seat so that it's facing in a direction perpendicular to his. I ease into the chair then sit with my legs draped over his lap. It's not an ideal position for intimacy and comfort, but it's one of the better ones we've tried. The Visitors Lounge was obviously not designed with snuggling in mind.

Edward squeezes my thigh and gives me a broad smile full of unabashed adoration. I drink it in, reveling in the warmth that radiates outward from my chest. His wears his love for me like brightly-colored plumage, on proud display for the world to see. The sight takes my breath away.

However, there is also a shadow of melancholy lurking within the depths of his eyes—an oppressive gloom that has increasingly threatened our blissful reunion as our time together draws to a close. When the upturned curve of his mouth flattens out, I know he's thinking about our impending goodbye.

"Hey, don't worry. Everything going to be fine—_I'm_ going to be fine." I stretch an arm out to caress the soft skin at the nape of his neck. "You've learned about the great step-down program they have here. There'll be plenty of support for me. I won't just be thrown out the door next week and left to deal with this on my own."

He sighs. "I know. I just hate the fact that I can't be here for you. In person."

I simply nod in response: we've had this conversation many times in the past few days. Edward heads back to Afghanistan tomorrow morning, and his unit isn't scheduled to return until July, which is over five months from now. He expects the second half of his deployment to proceed much like his first, with unpredictable assignments and periods of limited to no communication ability.

My future is somewhat more established. I'm to be discharged from Inpatient Care in less than a week and will transition to the Partial Hospitalization Program. Treatment lasts from 7:30 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., every day. When deemed ready, I'll "graduate" to Intensive Outpatient Treatment (four hours a day, four times a week). After that, I'll return home, but continue therapy from local doctors on an outpatient basis, as appropriate.

The exact timeline depends on my progress, but I'm wholly committed to my treatment and won't cut it short, even though I'll be living week to week, on my own, in an unfamiliar city. I already have a room reserved nearby at an extended-stay hotel. Jessica's mom, Sandra, has become something of a friend since Edward and I met her last Thursday when she came to visit. She gave me her phone number and offered to answer any questions I might have about the area.

Edward, however, doesn't feel this is enough.

"Remember, if you need anything, my mom will be more than happy to come up or help out however else she can," he insists. "Don't hesitate to call her, okay?"

"Alright," I say with a soft chuckle, slightly awed by his obvious concern. As I've done every day we've spent together this past week, I chastise myself for ever doubting him and his love for me.

"You're really amazing. You know that, right?" I run my hand over the scruff on his jaw and up the side of his face.

"So are you," he replies, his voice full of emotion. "You're also brave and strong, and I admire your determination to face this. Just don't forget that I'm in it with you, too—always. No matter what." He removes my feet from his lap and then lifts me up to straddle his thighs. "I love you so much, Bella."

"I love you, too."

Our lips press together briefly in a gentle, sweet kiss—a guileless reassertion of our shared devotion. Now more than ever, I cherish a precious gift such as this. I've been given a second chance to have something once lost through my own foolish actions. Never again do I want to take any expression of his love for granted.

But, at the same time, I can't deny my particular enjoyment for those expressions that are a little more…_heated._

During the time we've spent together over the past seven days, there has been an undeniable undercurrent of sexual tension between us. Even the suggestion of anything other than chaste touches and kisses causes our simmering desire to ignite, and we find ourselves struggling to restrain ourselves from breaching Visitors Lounge decorum rules.

And sometimes, even innocent gestures cause problems.

I give Edward a soft kiss on the cheek and move to wrap my arms around his torso. As I lean forward on his lap, I hear a nearly inaudible, but wholly unmistakable grunt of aroused discomfort. He shifts his body and pulls his hips back, but it's impossible for him to hide the hardness I feel growing and lengthening underneath me.

In an instant, every one of my nerve endings comes to life, buzzing with eager sensitivity. I whimper into his shoulder, doing my best not to rock against him like I so desperately want to do.

He tenses beneath me, his fingers tightening around my thighs, his breathing becoming heavier. The tautness of his muscles, the pressure of his hands, the accelerating rush of warm air by my ear—the whole of it crashes over my senses and shatters any designs of resistance. I am consumed with longing, unable to stop myself, rolling my pelvis in circles over the bulge straining upward between my legs. The ensuing friction is so, so delicious, but I am left more unfilled than ever.

"Fuck," Edward hisses, a shudder rippling through his rigid frame. His hands move to cup my backside, and then he pulls me closer, dragging me along the length of his covered erection, then back and forth again, another slow stroke. And another. "God, I want you so much."

My eyes clench shut, my pulse races. Arousal seeps from my body. The desperate hunger is almost too much to bear. If only I could rip away the barriers of clothing between us and take him inside me, right here on this chair, regardless of who might be in the room to watch. It's been so long…

But as badly as I ache for him, as much as I want to again experience that profound physical and emotional connection between us, I know there is no way it can happen.

Not here. Not now.

And so, summoning every shred of willpower in me, I reach behind to take his hands and release his urgent hold. He resists my light pull, not wanting to let go.

"Edward, we have to stop…"

One more moment of reckless defiance in the face of reality, and then his body goes slack.

"I know," he whispers, defeated. He blows a heavy sigh of air and as his head falls forward to his chest. "I'm sorry. That was a pretty stupid thing for me to do."

I shake my head. "No, I'm the one that started it." I duck down to press a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I just couldn't help it. You're too sexy for your own good."

He lifts his head to smirk at me. "Ditto, Beautiful."

I want to deny his words—it's a lifelong reaction—but therapy is dedicating considerable attention to raising my self-esteem. While I can't yet accept his compliment as having objective merit, I'm at least able to repress my immediate objections and smile instead. It's not a huge breakthrough in my treatment, but I'm thankful for any sort of progress.

From the corner of my eye, I see the door to the waiting area open and two people file out of the room, waving and blowing kisses to the friend or family member they've left behind. A glance to the wall clock shows that there are only five minutes left of visiting hours.

Only five minutes left until I have to say goodbye to the man I love. Five minutes, and then I won't see him for five months. I don't even try to hide the anguish in my expression.

When Edward pulls me close this time, there isn't a trace of the earlier heat we shared.

"Hey, it's going to be alright," he murmurs. "We'll get through this."

I bury my face into his neck and choke back the sobs threatening to tear from my throat. I want to uphold his faith in me, I want to be strong and brave, but our time apart stretches out before me like a stormy, endless night of solitude. Edward's unfailing support has deepened my ability to love and be loved, but I'm worried it will now be even more difficult to keep fighting without him nearby.

"Don't forget about my mom," Edward says, as if knowing my thoughts. "If you need anything, even just some company for a few days, give her a call. Alice and Jasper want to do as much as they can, too." Then he winces slightly. "I'm sorry Rose is still being such a bitch. She doesn't understand that you couldn't—"

"You don't need to apologize for her." I sit back to meet his gaze. "She loves you and doesn't want you to get hurt. I can't fault her for that."

"Yeah, but—"

"Edward…we've got minutes left…" My voice cracks with emotion. I don't want to talk about something as trivial as Rosalie's disdain.

"You're right," he sighs as he pulls me back into his chest. His arms squeeze me tightly. "God, I'm going to miss you."

We cling to each other in that last sliver of time before his departure, exchanging unspoken promises of love, devotion, and support. When he eventually pulls away and forces himself toward the door, I square my shoulders and fight back the tears. Although it hurts to see him leave, although I'll desperately miss the warm comfort of his arms while he's gone, I'm starting to feel optimistic about our future…about _my_ future.

I realize that the path ahead will be full of challenges for me, and for us as a couple. However, there's no doubt in my mind that I'm finally on the _right_ path. The journey may be difficult, but it leads to a better life.

And Edward will be there for me, _with _me, the whole way.

o-O-0-O-o

* * *

**I have no idea why, but this chapter didn't want to be written. Or maybe it did, because I did rewrote the whole thing at least three times!**

**So, there'll probably be 3 chapters more, plus an epi. Probably. I've been known to exceed my predictions in the past, lol.**


	32. Chapter 32 - Time for Change

**Chapter 32 - Time for Change**

***acronym definitions at the end**

* * *

Dr. Dongheon Cho reads over the screen on his computer and taps his pen on his chin.

"The dosages of Wellbutrin and Effexor that Dr. Carson prescribed are low, which is a good starting point. Today, we'll increase Effexor to the target amount and see how you respond. As far as the Wellbutrin goes, a few studies have shown high dosages to be correlated to increased seizure risk for patients with eating disorders. So, for now, we'll leave that alone."

A slight frown tugs at the corners of my mouth as I nod to show my understanding. Dr. Cho's perceptive glance picks up on it once.

"You look unhappy about something. Can you tell me about it?"

I force a neutral expression on my face. "Nothing's wrong. I'm fine. What you said about the medication sounds…fine."

He studies me carefully, his dark eyes thoughtful. After a few moments, the intensity of his gaze diminishes, and he leans back in his chair.

"My mom has hypothyroidism, you know," he says in a conversational tone.

"Okay?"

"She felt increasingly tired and apathetic. She gained weight and became depressed. Once her doctor discovered that her thyroid was underactive, she was started on a lifelong daily regimen of synthetic hormone. Now, she's doing much better—more energy, weight stabilized, healthier outlook on life."

I can see the parallel he's trying to draw, but shake my head at the attempt. "It's not the same. There's nothing your mom can do about the hypothyroidism; she can't heal herself by having positive thoughts. It's not a failure on her part that she's sick. Her illness is a physical one."

"And mental disorders aren't?"

I let out a frustrated sigh of air at his tactic. Instead of just telling me his point, he wants me to work to his conclusion on my own.

"Okay, so there are indications that too much or too little of certain chemicals in the brain can contribute to depression, eating disorders, and such," I concede. "But I've heard it over and over in the therapy classes here that they can also be caused by other factors like prolonged stress and traumatic events. If it's just a matter of balancing chemicals, then why do we bother with CBT and yoga classes?"

"The brain is a highly complex organ, as I'm sure you know. There's so much we don't yet understand about it. Millions, even billions, of chemical reactions regulate brain function, which includes perception, mood, emotion, and response to various stimuli. As individuals, yes, it seems we can affect, even alter, some of those chemical reactions by doing activities such as meditation or exercise, or by changing our diet and sleep patterns. Those types of therapies, however, often aren't effective enough for severe cases."

"And I'm one of those severe cases," I say with a derisive snort. Then my shoulders slump, and I scrub a hand over my eyes. "It's just…taking medication makes it _real_. It proves that I wasn't good enough—that there's something wrong with me."

Dr. Cho tilts his head to the side. "It is certainly real, but I don't look at the condition as being 'wrong,' per se. It just _is_. Some people have blond hair, some are tall, some get angry easily, some are good at swimming. Some develop hypothyroidism, or are more disposed to a mental illness, or have poor eyesight. Would you say that people who need glasses aren't 'good enough'?"

"No, but…" I trail off, not being able to come up with any more decent arguments at the moment. "I can't stop feeling like I deserve to suffer for not being strong enough to get over it on my own."

"It'll take time for your mindset to change," he says soothingly. "Studies suggest that antidepressants encourage the growth and branching of nerve cells in the brain. Establishing these new connections takes weeks. You're also working against thought patterns that have been ingrained for years.

"Maybe you could think of therapy as a trade school. You're trying to learn a new skill, and mastery won't happen overnight. Stumbles and setbacks are part of the process. In this analogy, you might compare medication to a favorable classroom setting. If you don't have the right materials and a good learning environment, you probably won't be successful. A dynamic professor could be giving a lecture, but what if you can't hear her in a noisy classroom? The appropriate medication can help create an atmosphere conducive to good mental health choices."

His words echo in my mind the next morning when I see three pills in my little plastic cup instead of two. I understand and agree with his reasoning, but accepting it, letting go of my shame, is more difficult to do. Dr. Cho is right: changing my mindset will take time.

o-O-0-O-o

_February 16, 2016_

_This is so weird._

_I'm away from CED for the first time in almost three weeks, but it seems like it's been so much longer than that. A year maybe. Or a lifetime._

_It's such a relief not having staffers in my face all the time, checking on me every 15 minutes, watching me when I eat, making sure I'm not expending any excess calories on movement. I feel like I want to do something crazy with my newly regained freedom. Like, maybe I'll do jumping jacks or stand against the wall for 20 minutes. Maybe I'll buy four different kinds of cereal and mix them all together. Then I'll use a disproportionally small amount of milk because God knows the world will end if the cereal to milk ratio isn't equal._

_It doesn't sound all that exciting, but after the strict rules of the past 2 months, it's the equivalent of me going ape-shit wild, haha._

_I need to do _something_ interesting. Right now I'm alternating between surfing channels and the Internet. It's not much different than evening hours at CED. Except I'm not hanging out with Jess._

_So far, so good with eating. I bought a bunch of microwave dinners and ate one an hour ago. I felt full afterward and had no desire to keep eating. Maybe the medication is actually helping. Or maybe I'm just happy that I didn't have a staffer frisking me after I finished. Ah, the things I used to take for granted…_

_I did talk to Esme afterward. It helped knowing that she was expecting my call at a certain time—I can't imaging stuffing my face at the same time I'm on the phone with her. We've talked quite a bit in the past two weeks since Edward first visited me. Hell, I think I'm closer to her than my own mom. Esme's coming up for a few days when I move from PHP to IOP. I think we'll have a good time going into Baltimore and DC. Might as well do some sight-seeing while I'm here, right?_

_God, I miss Edward. Five months is going to feel like forever. Is it July yet?!_

* * *

_February 27, 2016_

_One more day of PHP left! I'm definitely ready for it to be over with, but I have to say it's been a lot more helpful that IP was. I get that IP was sort of a "field dressing" treatment for people in extremis, but it was damned unpleasant. Oh, let's be honest—it sucked ass being on lockdown all the time._

_Esme will be here tomorrow, and I'm nervous about it. Edward says she's behind me 100%, and she sounds sincere over the phone, but I don't get how she can't be mad, at least a little. After all, I screwed around with her son's heart and then dumped all my crazy on him. She's got to wish he was with someone better for him. I know I'd feel that way if our roles were reversed. Sigh._

_Only one binge/purge "episode" since I left IP. I think that's decent progress, but I'm worried about what will happen when Esme leaves. I'll have a lot of time to myself when I'm not in an IOP session, which could lead to eating out of boredom. Though I guess I'll be somewhat occupied trying to find a new job to replace the one I just lost. That was happy news to get today. (Can you say sarcasm?)_

_I wasn't exactly surprised that it happened, but it was still a blow to my self-esteem. At least the parting was amicable, and they gave me the choice to quit instead of being fired. Peter's even going to write me a glowing referral. I guess it's for the best, anyway. I'm not prepared to return to a high-stress environment, not yet. And maybe not ever. We'll see._

* * *

_March 3, 2016_

_Esme is my new hero! Seriously, she's like the most chill person ever, but when you get a few drinks in her, the woman turns into Miss Party in the USA. Good thing I have no plans to return to the hotel bar after last night! I'm going to miss her._

_But while I'm bummed that she left, it'll be good for me to learn how to be on my own. Likewise, I'm also beginning to realize that Edward's deployment is something of a blessing in disguise. I want him here with me, of course, but if he were, my attention wouldn't solely be on treatment—as it needs to be. I'd be worried about making mistakes in front of him. I might go right back to pretending to be fine and ignoring the warning signs. I want to be an equal in our relationship, not a burden. I know he doesn't see me as one, at least not right now…but I do._

_IOP's been going well, but tomorrow's my first day completely on my own with an endless stretch of unfilled hours in front of me before therapy session. Maybe I'll park myself in a coffee shop and start the job search. Hopefully, the public aspect of the setting will deter me from overindulging or wallowing._

* * *

_March 4, 2016_

_My CBT homework is to start a daily food diary to help me identify episode triggers, so here goes._

_Food: Breakfast shake, protein bar, roast beef wrap, string cheese, grilled BBQ chicken, salad_

_Exercise: 30 min walk/jog (outside)_

_Thoughts: Started updating resume, had slight urges to eat more but suppressed them, felt good to exercise again though could only hold a steady jog for a few minutes at a time, had great talk with Edward_

* * *

_March 5, 2016_

_Food: Breakfast shake, box of raisins, peppercorn chicken Caesar salad (barely any dressing), shake, 10 turkey pepperonis, 1 string cheese, 2 pieces roast beef_

_Exercise: 30 min elliptical (gym)_

_Thoughts: Woke up hungry, still hungry after shake, went to gym instead of eating lunch, took nap afterward, felt super weak during therapy, had extra snack before bed, still felt weak after snack but sleeping pill kicked in_

* * *

_March 6, 2016_

_Food: Shake, Big salad w/veggies and a little cheese, 1 mini sugar-free chocolate candy, cheese stick, protein bar, BBQ chicken, broccoli, shake_

_Exercise: resting day, sore!_

_Thoughts: Good day, felt positive, decent energy level, yay for FaceTime!_

* * *

_March 7, 2016_

_Food: Shake, SF chocolate, protein bar, celery sticks, chicken wrap, protein bar, (*salad, turkey burger, 6 sausage/egg biscuits, 6 pecan spins, 5 biscuits, 5 cinnamon buns, 1 pt ice cream, 6 nutty bars*) _

_Exercise: 45 min walk/jog (outside)_

_Thoughts: feeling depressed, hungry all day, nap after exercising, bored, lonely, rough session with Dr. Cho, couldn't stop eating after dinner and lost control, B/P episode*, cried myself to sleep_

* * *

_March 8, 2016_

_Food: Normal day_

_Exercise: 45 min walk/jog (gym)_

_Thoughts: Felt gross in morning (puffy face, red knuckles, shaky limbs), but got back on typical daily menu track, wasn't able to talk to Edward about yesterday's slip-up but did call Esme_

* * *

_March 12, 2016_

_Food: Normal day_

_Exercise: 30 jogging (outside)_

_Thoughts: Got care package ready for Edward, had dinner with Sandra, visited Jess again (she'll be going to PHP next week!), stayed up really late talking to E but was so worth it…his unit might come back a little earlier than planned!_

* * *

_March 17, 2016_

_Food: Normal_

_Exercise: rest_

_Thoughts: Wow, it's over. My last time at CED, hopefully forever! Happy St. Paddy's Day to me, lol. They even served corned beef and cabbage for group dinner tonight. And LUCKILY (haha), I had just enough time after session to meet Jess and say goodbye. Sandra was there, too, and a lot of tears were shed all around. I'll definitely be coming back up to Maryland to visit them before too long. _

_Let's see, it's been 55 days since I checked into the Inpatient Program at CED. It hasn't been easy, but I've made significant progress. Yes, I've had a handful of slip-ups/episodes, but overall, the need to binge and purge is a lot less strong and happens less frequently. I feel more in control of my emotions, and—probably most importantly—I'm getting better at identifying triggers and having "preplanned" responses that will help me break out of that vicious loop of food and failure._

_I have a few scouting interviews set up in the next two weeks, but they're just for me to get a closer look at the companies I'm considering. I don't know, though…those positions are similar to the one I left behind. The more I think about it, the more I feel like continuing on this career path is going to make it harder for me to keep from spiraling downward. Maybe I need to look elsewhere in my field. Or maybe I should consider something else entirely. But what?_

_Even if I knew in which direction I'd like to go, there are so many other factors to consider. For one, I'd probably have to go back to school. I've got a healthy savings account and investment portfolio, but another degree would take a big chunk out of it. What if I end up hating it? Would starting over be an even bigger source of stress? Is it worth the risk and uncertainty, especially at this point in my life? It would be a huge leap to take, and I'm just not sure._

_My career…my focus on work and perfection…my eating habits, how I view myself, my willingness to rely on others…it seems like everything is changing._

_There's so much to consider…and right now, it's hard to be confident. I'm insecure in my feelings about anything._

_But at least I have one constant. Edward's been so great through all this, even though he's on the other side of the world. I have no doubts when it comes to us. I love him, he loves me, and those are things I_ am_ sure about._

* * *

**CBT - Cognitive Behavioral Therapy**

**CED – The Center for Eating Disorders (at Sheppard-Pratt)**

**IP – Inpatient Program**

**PHP – Partial Hospitalization Program (12 hrs a day/7 days a week)**

**IOP – Intensive Outpatient Program (4 hrs a day, Mon-Thurs)**

* * *

**Just FYI, I'm trying to decide if I should take a break here before writing the last few chapters (for a week or so) to do a chapter of my other WIP that I've long put on hold, or if I'm going to push through to the end of this first. If you happen to be a reader of both, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!**


	33. Chapter 33 - Moving Forward

**Chapter 33 - Moving Forward**

* * *

"I'm done with my homework," eight-year-old Anna sings as she skips over to me.

"Okay, let me finish cutting up the cucumber, and then I'll look over it," I say.

It's a Thursday afternoon in mid-May, and I'm at Alice's house, watching over her two children until she or Jasper gets home. Alice is a high school drama teacher and often stays past regular hours to hold rehearsals for the school's upcoming musical. Jasper's schedule is unpredictable: his day can suddenly be lengthened if pressing matters arise on the ship.

My role as an after-school care provider began as a favor to Alice. She'd called me a month ago in a desperate state, saying that Anna was sick and needed to be picked up from school. Jasper had been out to sea at the time, and Alice's normal emergency babysitter wasn't answering her phone. Other than an easily postponed date with an elliptical machine, I had nothing going on, so I got a house key from Alice and brought her daughter home. I offered to watch the ailing girl the next day, as well, so that Alice wouldn't have miss out on an important meeting at the high school.

Isaac, Anna's six-year-old brother, didn't want to attend the children's usual after-school care program by himself again, so he rode the bus home that day. By then, Anna was feeling much better, and we all had a good time playing Candy Land and making shapes out of Jello until Alice came. The kids begged me to watch them after school the next day, and I just couldn't say no to their excited little faces. Before I knew it, I was taking care of them on a regular basis.

The two children are ridiculously easy to watch over, and it's good for me to have some sort of daily occupation again. A number of prestigious companies have been courting me and offering positions as Project Manager or Senior Consultant, but I've chosen to put off the job search process until after Edward returns. There's no pressing reason to return to the workforce right away, and I want to concentrate on our relationship without the inherent stress of beginning a new job.

The downside to that decision, however, was that my days had been largely unstructured. I'd kept myself busy enough, but it was much easier to fall prey to negative thoughts and seclusion when I had no external commitments. Now, going to Alice's every day ensures that I get out of bed, make myself presentable, and interact with other people.

Eventually, I'll have to find a viable full-time job, but it's not something I have to worry about anytime soon. I maintain a rather simple lifestyle, and with my car long paid off, I have enough to cover my rent and live comfortably for at least a year.

I've explained this to Alice, but she still insists on paying for my time, even though I keep trying to decline.

"It's no more than the fees I was paying for the after school care program, and the kids never did like it," she argues. "They'd much rather come home and hang with their awesome Aunt Bella!"

I found the title of honorary Aunt to be a little intimidating at first, but now I love hearing it. Although children have always been something of a mystery to me, I don't seem to have a problem interacting with Alice's. They're very loving and sweet, and I enjoy my time with them.

Anna is peering over my shoulder as I check over her math homework. Isaac sits at the coffee table building some sort of vehicle out of Legos.

"Did you tell Uncle Edward 'hi' for me last night?" she asks after I finish.

"I did. He said he misses and loves you. Oh, and guess what? There's a good chance he'll be coming home next month."

"Seriously?" Her eyes light up with happiness. "Will he be back in time for my party?"

"Maybe. I really hope so."

Her birthday is July 1st, and if all goes well, Edward's unit will return at the end of June. Knowing the military as I do, I won't let myself get too worked up until their plane is actually up in the air and heading west, but there's no keeping the hopeful excitement out of my voice.

It's been over three long months since he returned to Afghanistan, with two of them passing after I left CED. Edward and I talk over FaceTime regularly, and even though we're not together physically, our relationship has never been stronger. It's such a freeing feeling to know that I have no secrets to guard, no reasons to be anxious about exposure.

For the most part, this openness extends to my life outside of Edward. I'm making progress with my new psychiatrist, Dr. Marion Weaver, whom I like well enough. I also attend a weekly eating disorders therapy group. Esme continues to be a great source of support, and she's introduced me to a new hobby: gardening. I make the 40-minute drive to her house at least twice a week, and we have wonderful discussions as we water and weed and prune.

I'm thinking about how well our tomato plants are doing when a low rumble causes Isaac to jump to his feet.

"Mom's home!"

He opens the side door to the garage to watch Alice pull in. Anna joins her brother, both waving happily as the SUV comes to a halt. Alice hasn't made it all the way out of the vehicle before the youngsters begin talking over one other to share the details of their school day.

"Alright, alright, kiddos," she laughs. "One at a time. Little Bub, it's your turn to go first today."

I shred lettuce for salad as Alice is regaled with tales from the elementary school yard. She joins me in the kitchen after the kids get distracted by a pair of foam swords and start dueling each other.

"How was your day, honey?" I ask with a smirk, covering the lettuce container with a plastic lid.

"It was good, sugarpie," she laughs. "The pit band is much better than last year's, and our first rehearsal with them went pretty well." Alice reaches for packages of steak in the refrigerator. "How about you? Were our kids any trouble?"

"Never. Anna's finished with her homework, and I read a few books with Isaac. Let's see, my guitar lesson this morning was great, and at the gym, that same idiot hit on me again."

"The clueless dark-haired guy—Kevin, was it?"

"Yeah," I laugh. "I really don't get what part of 'I'm not interested' he can't understand."

"Take Edward in with you when he gets back. Believe it or not, that guy can be pretty damned scary when necessary." She grins at me, mischief playing on her lips. "Or I can let you borrow Jasper for a few hours. He's so hot and intimidating when in his 'command mode.'"

I snort in amusement while rolling my eyes. "As much as I appreciate the offer to share your husband, I think I can handle it on my own."

Alice gives me a knowing smirk.

To be honest, though I certainly don't encourage it, my slowly improving self-esteem does fluff up at the attention, shallow as it may be. I can't deny that I appreciate how my diligent workout regimen is causing me to shed excess weight. It's a nice side benefit to my true goal: incorporating exercise into an overall healthy lifestyle. Becoming more fit gives me the important sense of accomplishment that I crave, greater confidence, and pride in the _good_ things my body can do.

Overall, I'm pleased with my progress. The Effexor and Wellbutrin do seem to be effective in stabilizing my mood and suppressing the desire to stuff myself, though I have to be careful to take them every day around the same time. If I'm notably late or miss a day altogether, I can feel the difference.

Despite their life-changing properties, however, the drugs aren't a cure-all. There are still plenty of days that challenge my will to keep fighting the disorders. The time period before menstruation is especially difficult. Even medication can't completely combat the effects of hormones surges and other chemical changes associated with PMS. This is when most of my bingeing/purging slip-ups happen. I try to take preemptive measures to keep my thoughts positive, such as talking on the phone or watching comedies, but sometimes the depression creeps up so slowly that I don't notice its presence until it's pulling me under.

There are moments, some longer than others, when I feel as if nothing's changed—as if my months of therapy and self-actualization efforts were a waste of time. But eventually, I remember there _is_ a difference between now and then. Now I have the full support of a wonderful family that encourages me without criticism or judgment.

Except for Rosalie, that is.

We haven't seen each other since I returned home—not since she confronted me at my apartment. Edward was furious at her once he pieced together the sequence of events from that night. He places a measure of blame on her for the troubled state of mind I had been in when climbing the grain elevator. I repeatedly insist that it wasn't her fault, but he still harbors resentment toward her. It doesn't help that she makes no secret about her disapproval of our relationship.

While I don't want to let her opinion affect me, I hate the fact that it's a cause of tension within Edward's family. For that reason, I avoid any get-togethers that she will attend, including the upcoming Memorial Day barbecue at Esme's house. Alice isn't pleased with my decision not to come.

"You should be there; you're part of the family now, too," she says as we set the table. "Tell me how I can change your mind."

I shake my head. "Not gonna happen. I've caused enough problems as it is, and—"

"Bella—" Alice tries to interject, but I forge ahead.

"_And_, I'm just not ready to deal with her face-to-face yet. It would be too awkward, and I don't want to be the reason for more family drama."

"She's behind the drama, not you," Alice grumbles. "Anyway, you can't put off seeing her forever. What about Anna's party?"

"Well, there'll be lots of kids around, so she probably won't start anything. Even if she does, I'll be so blissed out over Edward being back that I won't care."

"That's true," Alice laughs. She lowers her voice to make sure the kids don't hear. "I can say from experience that 'Welcome Home from Deployment' sex is one of the best kinds there is. Jasper and I hit it so hard after his last homecoming that I was walking bowlegged for days!"

"You little slut!" I tease under my breath.

"You bet. And I have no doubt you'll be just as bad, if not worse. After all, Jasper and I had to limit our activities to times when the kids were in bed. You have nothing like that to hold you back. Nothing but two empty apartments, long periods of uninterrupted time…just the two of you…so many horizontal surfaces…maybe get some chocolate and whipped cream…"

Her words trail off into silence and her eyes glaze over as she pictures herself and Jasper in that particular scenario. At least, I'm assuming she's picturing herself and Jasper…

I let the same thoughts flit around the edges of my mind—except with me and Edward starring in the scene, of course. It's difficult to make sure the images remain blurred and without too much detail, but there's still at least five long weeks to wait before he and I will have the opportunity to turn fantasy into reality. There's no point in getting excited now.

Oh the other hand, a trip to the dessert toppings section of the grocery store couldn't hurt…

* * *

**Next chapter will be an EPOV outtake... :^)**


	34. Chapter 34 - Anticipation

**Chapter 34 - Anticipation (EPOV)**

* * *

Thirty minutes to go.

It's such a small amount of time compared to the 25 hours of travel I've already endured, but the half hour that stands between me and home feels like an eternity.

We're close, though—the atmosphere on the plane is proof of that. It's thick with anticipation and relief as 21 members of a Navy Reserve unit wait for the official end of a long deployment.

I stare out the window at the clouds surrounding us and let my thoughts wander. As so often happens, they congregate around the subject of a certain brown-haired beauty who I know is already waiting for me at the airport terminal.

_Bella._

I can picture her there, watching for my arrival with those deep, intelligent eyes that have always captivated me. She'll probably be pacing back and forth, scowling and tapping her fingers against her hip as she sometimes does when impatient. If her hair's down, she might even flip it over her shoulder every few laps or so.

I remember the time I teased her for those little quirks of her personality. She was surprised that I'd noticed, but then, I've always had a hard time keeping my eyes off her.

It was impossible not to stare the first time I saw her at the restaurant. She was sitting with a large group of senior military officers, most of them probably twice her age. Yet despite the abundance of experience-heavy brass, it was obvious she more than held her own in the conversation. I was fascinated by the way her body became animated and her face lit up when she spoke. One didn't need to hear her words to know she was passionate about whatever she was saying.

Still, I could tell she was holding something back. There was a stiffness about her back and shoulders that suggested she wasn't completely at ease. It was this observation that caused me to intercept her at the salad bar to see if I could coax a smile from her desirably full lips.

Yes, I noticed those, as well.

I wouldn't say that I crashed and burned in my admittedly lame pseudo-flirting attempt, but she wasn't very impressed with me. I probably would have done just as well with a tug on her ponytail as if we were on a school playground. Regardless, I was a little surprised by her cool response. Not to brag, but that sort of thing rarely happens to me.

When I later saw Bella at the hotel restaurant with a man, I figured she gave me the brush-off because she was in a relationship. Being a firm believer in fidelity, I respected her for that and tried to direct my thoughts elsewhere. But as Rose and I chatted while waiting for a table, I found myself watching the beautiful brunette out of the corner of my eye. At one point, the man leaned close to her and said something in her ear. She seemed surprised at first, but then a sultry look of desire stole across her features. I sucked in a shallow breath and slipped a hand into my pocket to hide a rapidly growing erection. I couldn't understand what was happening: I'd never had such a reaction to a simple glance, especially one not intended for me.

I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have approached a woman who was obviously spoken for. But when Rosalie went to the bathroom and Bella's companion departed the table, I couldn't stop my legs from propelling me over to her table.

The man—Jake, as I learned—returned much too quickly and wasted no time making his claim obvious with universal gestures of possession. Envious feelings aside, I felt uneasy about Bella being with him and was relieved, albeit concerned for her, when I later spotted him being escorted out of the building by the police. If I'd had any way of contacting her to check on her safety, I would have, but the law enforcement officials looked at me as if I was crazy when I asked what had happened. Apparently, they tend not to give out details to random people.

On the count of luck, serendipity, or maybe even fate, Bella and I came together once more, and that time, she gave into my charm. Or took pity on me…she never has said which. The reason doesn't matter because, in the end, we began dating, and I fell for her even further.

I was, and still am, awed by her intelligence. I mean, I don't consider myself a dummy, but I certainly never graduated from elite schools like she did. On top of that, she's an amazing artist and has an incredible singing voice.

And then there's the fact that she's beautiful.

When I look at her, I see expressive eyes, a kissable mouth, waves of shiny hair that I want to bury my fingers in, delicious breasts, soft curves, and the perfect grabbable ass. The thought of her makes me so hard, and the six weeks of plentiful sex we had before I left was mind-blowing. God, I'm so attracted to her.

Smart, beautiful, accomplished, fun—she has so many things going for her. That's why I was completely shocked to find out about how she sees herself. I couldn't believe she suffers from depression and an eating disorder. I never once suspected it, not even when it seemed our relationship was going to hell.

I mean, yes, there were times she was moody or distant. Her job could be highly stressful at times, and no one's life is perfectly happy all the time. My deployment was a case in point. Being separated at such an early point in our relationship was an unfortunate curve ball that neither of us handled particularly well.

I could feel the emotional distance increasing between us, yet I did one of the worst things possible: I closed myself off. Bella says that her secret personal struggles would have doomed us to the same conclusion, regardless of my detachment, but I hate that I made things worse for both of us.

There are so many things I wish I had done differently, but Gail Marconi at CED pointed out that we should review our mistakes to learn from them without dwelling and playing the "what if" game. Gail was the therapist who led the two Couples Therapy group sessions that Bella and I attended during my leave period. Much of what we talked about during the sessions was common sense, but following such practices is a lot more difficult than simply understanding why they're important.

I'm trying my damnedest, though—anything for Bella. I don't want to lose her again. The first time absolutely devastated me. With my head stuck in the sand, I didn't see the signs until it was too late to brace myself. Quite frankly, her final email shocked the ever-loving shit out of me. At first, I refused to believe it was over. But when she wouldn't answer my calls or emails, I felt like I'd been sliced open and gutted. Though I knew I loved her, I never imagined just how damned hollow I would feel without her in my life.

I found it nearly impossible to concentrate after that and was seriously considering taking leave to sit on Bella's doorstep and beg for answers. At the very least, I wanted some small measure of closure. I even began to write up a two-week leave chit for home when my unit was sent to provide disaster aid.

It seemed my plans were to be put on hold, but then she sent_ that_ email.

I read through it three consecutive times and experienced different feelings each time. The first time through, I was utterly dumbfounded. It didn't seem possible that the words on my screen could have anything to do with the person I thought Bella was. Years of depression? Feelings of worthlessness and self-hatred? Overeating, throwing up, and obsessing with food? It made no sense to me.

The second reading left me in anguish. It killed me to know that someone I love had suffered so much. I wished I could go back in time and find a way to save her from experiencing any kind of pain.

It wasn't until starting again for the third time that a sense of urgency pervaded my being and took control of my thoughts. Why did Bella send that email to me...why did she choose that particular time to reach out? She explained her struggles and how it affected our relationship, but other than saying she still loved me, she wrote only in past tense. Nowhere did she mention her present state of mind or her intentions to seek help. I didn't know how she was doing, what her plans were, if she needed anything…if she needed me.

I had to find out. I had to try.

Five months ago, when I sat on a plane heading toward Bella, I was overcome with fear and anxiety. I'd received a second, short email informing me of her decision to check into Sheppard-Pratt's CED but wasn't able get in touch with her myself. Given her inpatient status, I assumed her condition must be serious, but I knew little about depression and even less about eating disorders. Perhaps, even if she did want me to visit, my presence would have been a hindrance. I had no idea what was going to happen when I arrived at the facility.

So much is different this time around. I'm better informed: in addition to the two Couples Therapy sessions at CED, I attended a Family Support session there and am now a member of a therapist-mediated online support group. Bella and I have had several long discussions about her history with the both bulimia and depression, and she says she feels she can talk to me without fear of judgment. While there's yet to be a long-term plan for our future, we're united in our desire to move forward together.

I know that there will be challenges for us to face, both individually and as a couple. Gail pulled me aside after a Couples session and spoke frankly. She told me that there was no "cure" for an eating disorder, or depression, and that Bella would have to work at managing the conditions for the rest of her life.

"Some people respond very well to treatment," Gail had said. "It could be that their medication makes a big difference or they figure out a helpful coping strategy. Maybe they discover success with a certain type of therapy or make important lifestyle changes. However it comes about, a positive outcome is our end goal, of course, but it is often difficult to achieve and never guaranteed. Some of those affected struggle for years or go through of lifetime of up and down periods. And sadly, mental illness sometimes takes away a life completely.

"I'm not saying these things to scare you, and given how important it is for sufferers to have a strong support system, the last thing I want to do is chase you off. But as Bella's partner, your life _will_ be affected by her conditions. It's not something you can ignore or expect to go away. And while it's important for you be supportive and understanding, you won't be able to 'fix' her problems. When it comes down to it, she's the only one who can bring about change."

Gail's words have remained with me these last two months, and I do appreciate her wisdom. I have no intention of trivializing Bella's struggles, nor do I think I have an unrealistic idea of what lies ahead for us. But although I accept that depression and bulimia are part of her life, I know that they in no way define who she is. Bella has so many layers, she is made of so many unique little gems of character, and I love them all. I want them all—all of her.

A lightening feeling in my stomach catches my attention, and I realize we are beginning our descent. I have to fight back the childish urge to smash my nose against the window and look for the airport, as if that could somehow bring me closer to her.

The cabin is mostly quiet as we land. Many of my fellow service members are lost inside their thoughts, some fidgeting anxiously in their seats, some adopting a forced stillness that doesn't quite hide their eagerness. I alternate between the two, trying to remain stoic but bouncing my leg up and down when impatience overwhelms me.

Finally, I'm pulling down my bag from the overhead compartment, and getting jostled in the aisle, and striding quickly up the jetway, and hurrying to the security checkpoint. The moment I turn the corner, my eyes scan the gathered crowd, frantically searching for two familiar faces. Up ahead, people are reuniting with loved ones amid small handheld American flags and homemade signs of greeting. Then I see her.

She and my mom are holding onto the edges of a "Welcome Home, Edward!" sign decorated in red, white, and blue. My stare meets Bella's, and then I'm pushing past the other travelers to get to her. She drops her corner of the sign and rushes forward. The feelings of relief and happiness that courses through me when she crashes into my arms are everything I knew they would be.

Some amount of time passes as we hold onto one another and drink up the bliss of reunion—I have no idea how much, and I don't really care. I'm not able to think; all I can do is feel. The warmth of her body pressed into me. The rapid beat of her chest thumping against mine. The soft waves of silk between my fingers. Her arms tight around my torso. Her lips open against my neck as hot breath tickles my skin. The irrefutable love that surges between us everywhere we touch.

It's all that I want and more than I could ever hope for. Now that we're together again, I never want to let her go. Although I realize not every day will be easy, a future with Bella holds so much promise, so much happiness. So much love.

And I can't wait for it all.

* * *

**Happy Memorial Day to all veterans and active duty military, including my own dear hubby and my BB Dee's Navy husband.**


	35. Chapter 35 - Family Matters

**Chapter 35 - Family Matters**

* * *

After Edward collects his green duffle bags from baggage claim, the three of us go out to dinner. Since he and I have spoken on the phone almost daily, he spends most of the meal chatting with Esme. I'm perfectly content listen as I sit pressed into his side, our fingers entwined on top of his thigh.

I remain fairly well-behaved until we're waiting for the check, and then my self-control starts to wane. Casual movements of my hand become deliberate strokes along the inner seam of his pants. I draw teasing circles over the material, slowly creeping upward until the tips of my fingers find the hard bulge they've been seeking. With rapidly decreasing restraint, I slide my palm over his erection and give it a meaningful squeeze. Edward's breath hitches a little when I tug on him, but he otherwise manages to keep his composure in front of his mom.

Our goodbye to Esme is rather hasty, but her knowing smile shows that she isn't offended. I chuckle as Edward breaks into a jog toward my car, pulling me along by my hand. We're both eager to begin our alone time together and fully intend to spend the next several days sequestered in my apartment, emerging just in time to attend Anna's birthday party.

On the drive back to my apartment, however, I get a phone call from Dad.

"Hey, Bells, guess what? I'm taking time off work to visit this coming weekend. I just emailed you the flight information."

"What?" I'm so surprised that it takes a moment for me to connect the dots. "Um, it'd be great to see you, Dad, but it's not really a good time right now. Don't you remember me telling you about Edward coming back? In fact, I just picked him up from the airport."

"Huh, guess I forgot." He clears his throat. "It took me a while to juggle my work schedule to come, and anyway, I don't get in until Friday morning. You two will have most of the week to get, uh, reacquainted."

I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that last statement coming out of his mouth. "Well…just so you know, I'm busy Friday evening. Anna, one of the kids I watch after school, is having a birthday party."

Edward's hand is resting on my thigh, and he squeezes it to get my attention. "If you want, he can come with us," he says in a low voice. "You know Mom would love to meet him."

"Hold on, Dad." I put the car's speakerphone connection on mute. "It's Anna's birthday. She's not going to want a complete stranger there."

"She'll probably be too busy running around with her friends to even notice. It's up to you, of course, but I certainly wouldn't mind having some reinforcements around the first time he sees me," he says with a smile.

I grudgingly concede the point and relay the offer to Dad. I can hear in his voice that he's not excited about the idea of going to kids' party, but he does agree it will be good to meet the extended family of my very significant other.

By the time I've ended the call, Edward has already confirmed Alice's approval of his spontaneous invitation. We pull into my apartment complex's parking lot, and before I exit the car, I decide to give Esme a heads up about my dad's plans via text. I'm in the middle of typing my message when a tap on my window startles me so badly that I drop the phone. I gasp when I see who it is.

Mom.

She steps back with a happy smile when I scramble out of the car.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demand, the words coming out more sharply than I intend. "Are you conspiring with Dad or something?"

"Charlie? Not at all. Hell, I don't remember the last time we talked. Why—what's going on?" She looks appropriately confused.

I shake my head. "Hold that thought. First of all, why are you here?"

"Well, I thought I'd surprise you with a visit. Plus, I'm dying to meet this man of yours! Didn't you say he'd be back by now? How about tomorrow morning we invite him over for—"

She stops abruptly when the passenger side door swings open and Edward steps out. He gives her a warm smile, and though I'm full of irritation over Mom's appearance, I feel a rush of love for my ever-polite boyfriend.

"You must be Edward!" Mom exclaims as she pulls him into a hug at the front of the car. "I've heard so much about you...and I can't wait to find out more."

I do my best to contain mounting ire as she chatters on for the next hour in my apartment. Edward graciously answers her numerous questions, even though he's fighting back yawns. Finally, I can't contain my impatience any longer.

"Mom, the guest room is all yours until Dad gets here, and then you two can figure it out between yourselves. Edward and I are going to bed now." Without further ado, I stand up and drag him out of the living room.

Edward takes a quick shower to wash off over a day's worth of travel and then joins me under the covers, wearing only his boxers. Immediately, my hand goes to his chest and begins exploring the curves of his muscles. They have become more defined and solid during his time in Afghanistan.

"Wow, look at you," I murmur, enjoying the feel of his bare skin.

"Mm…I can't." His fingers pull down a strap of my silk night slip. "I'm too busy looking at something else."

I moan when he brushes his thumb over a newly exposed nipple.

"Shh," he warns teasingly. "Your mom's in the next room, naughty girl."

"I don't care." My voice is breathy but petulant. "That's what she gets for showing up without letting me…oh _God_."

He has removed his hand from my breast and replaced it with his lips. I run my fingers through the short hairs on the back of his neck and hold his head to my chest. His tongue swirls over the sensitive nipple as he sucks it in his mouth.

My legs wrap around the back of his thighs and pull him on top of me. Within moments, his boxers and my slip are tossed away and his cock is sliding through my wet folds.

"Fuck, I need you," he pants, his lips moving against my ear. "I've waited too long to be inside you again, and now I'm going to fuck you so...damn…_hard_."

When he slams into me for the first time, I know right away that neither of us is going to last long. I'm tight around him, and he's so thick from arousal that I can feel him in every part of my body. He picks up a pounding, relentless pace, and already I can sense the edges of my orgasm beginning to take shape. Giving myself to the aching pressure, I claw at his back and buck wildly beneath him, desperate for more, hungry for the kind of release only he can give.

Edward understands my wordless pleas. He moves over me so that my mouth is in line with his collarbone. My back arches into the mattress as my body curls in on itself. Pulling out only partly, Edward drags the engorged head of his cock back and forth over the spot he knows will make me come.

"Yes…right there," I gasp needlessly. "More..."

He continues driving into me with determined precision. My fingers dig into his sweat-slickened skin, trying to brace myself against the force of his thrusts.

"So close…I'm...so close..._oh fuck!_"

Without warning, my body clenches and quakes from the surge of a powerful climax. Edward gasps when I tighten around him, his hips jerking erratically as his own release overwhelms him.

"Gonna…come…I'm, _fuck_…_I'm coming_…" he cries out.

Twisted up in one another, we shudder through the aftershocks and try to catch our breath.

"So much for being quiet," I comment with a laugh when we finally stumble out of bed to clean ourselves off.

Edward ducks his head sheepishly. "Yeah, well…you were right. If she's going to show up the night I get back, she shouldn't be surprised to hear sex sounds all night."

"All night, huh?" I raise an eyebrow in challenge. "Does that mean you're ready for round two?"

"Round two? Hmm…"

He reaches down to give his semi-erect cock a few thoughtful strokes. I'm wildly self-conscious but try not to squirm as his hungry gaze roams over my naked form and settles between my thighs.

He steps toward me and lets out a throaty, seductive chuckle. "I think that sounds like a great idea."

o-O-0-O-o

Instead of passing the week in a blissful state of undress, Edward and I find ourselves entertaining my mom. It's not too much of a chore—we visit the beach, a few museums, and historical sites—but I don't get nearly as much alone time with Edward as I'd like. While he does stay over at my apartment, his jet lag causes him to be exhausted during the day, which means he falls asleep early. I'm more of a night owl, and as a consequence, there's far less passionate sex happening than we'd planned. I never even get a chance to break out the whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

Dad flies into town Friday morning. Edward and I pick him up from the airport and then take him out to lunch. Mom opts to stay at my apartment, thus avoiding interaction with her ex-husband for as long as possible. I find this to be a wise choice on her part, and my opinion is later validated when I drive the four of us to Anna's birthday party. Dad makes a few attempts to talk, but Mom cuts him off each time, interjecting some trivia about Edward and me as if to prove she knows us better than he does.

When Edward makes formal introductions to his family before the party starts, I feel as if I'm trapped within a perfect storm of awkwardness. Alice's house is a nice, slightly above average middle-class house in a suburb, but my mom can't stop gushing about how much money their property and belongings must have cost, especially the in-ground pool. In contrast, Dad barely speaks, though his stilted, cool demeanor practically screams discomfort. When Mom chastises him for his social deficiencies in front of everyone and launches into a diatribe about his role in their failed marriage, I want to disappear into the ground. Or better yet, make my parents disappear.

Alice and Esme are perfectly welcoming, as I expected, but they have only enough time to exchange basic pleasantries before rushing back to their party preparation duties. Jasper and Emmett seem genuine in their greetings, but Rosalie acts as if speaking to me is some sort of punishment. Edward's pointed glares in her direction do nothing to ease the tension.

I'm vastly relieved when the young party guests begin to arrive. Although there's no reprieve from my parents' petty bickering, at least they're not the center of attention. I excuse myself and Edward to see if we can help with anything.

"Sorry about that," I sigh as we head toward the kitchen. "I should've known better than to think they could behave themselves."

He pulls me in for a hug. "You're not responsible for them, and besides, you know my family doesn't care. They're just happy you and I are here together."

When I scoff under my breath, Edward immediately picks up my meaning. He nudges me in the side with his elbow.

"Come on, you know Rose can't help herself," he says with a smile. "She's what happens when concentrated bitchiness takes on a human form."

I know I shouldn't let her disdain get to me, but it does. Logically, I realize that there are people in the world that won't like me, no matter what I do or don't do. I fully understand that my assessment of self-worth should in no way be based on the opinions of others.

But it's difficult fighting three decades of ingrained thought patterns. I'm hard-wired to crave the approval of others, and it literally makes me ill to my stomach when I'm faced with censure.

That's why, when I later notice Rosalie walking to her car, I follow after her. She hears the thud of my sandals on the driveway pavement and turns to face me.

"Oh, it's you," she says, sounding bored. "What do you want?"

I take a deep breath and try to ignore the racing beat of my heart.

"Listen, I'm sorry about everything that happened between your brother and me, but that's in the past," I tell her in the most confident voice I can muster. "We're moving forward and plan on a long future together. So, I'm curious: are you going to hold a grudge the entire time or what?"

She shrugs. "It's not a grudge. If Edward forgives you, that's his business, but it doesn't change how I feel. Simply put, I don't like you. It was shitty the way you dumped him, and I think he's stupid for taking you back. If your 'illness' or whatever is the reason you broke his heart, then you should do him a favor by staying the hell away so it doesn't happen again. He shouldn't be wasting his time trying to build a life with such an unstable person. He deserves more than that. Sorry to be blunt, but I just don't think you're good enough for him."

So many emotions are warring within me that, at first, I can only stare at her while desperately trying to hold back traitorous tears. The prickling heat in my eyes may be caused by anger, or shame, or frustration—I'm not able to tell, but I hate that they're visible. I don't want to seem weak. I want to yell at Rosalie, maybe even strike out at her. At the same time, however, everything's she said has come up in my own thoughts on more than one occasion.

Her dark blue eyes study the conflict on my features. She seems surprised when I square my shoulders and meet her stare with a steady gaze of my own.

"If you haven't figured this out yet, I love Edward, and the thing I want most is for him to be happy. I'm going to assume you feel the same way—that you care about him, too. Well, he and I are very happy together, and so long as that's true, I'm not going anywhere, no matter what you think.

"Yes, I've been diagnosed with depression and an eating disorder. But I'm aware of the challenges I face, and every day I work on overcoming them." I smirk at her. "That's more than I can say about you and your tendency to be an overbearing, judgmental bitch."

Rosalie's eyes widen as she attempts to sputter a response, but I roll right over her indignant squeaks.

"For Edward's sake, and the rest of your family's, I'd like for us to get along. At the very least, it'd be great if you could pull the stick out of your ass and be civil. Otherwise, you'll just be making things hard for everyone. Think about it."

Having no desire to spend any more time around her, I turn on my heel and march to the backyard, where Edward is listening to my mom prattle on about something while Jasper chats with Dad. I hesitate before entering the pool area and think about my relationship with my parents. I know that they love me in their own ways, but they've never given me the kind of support I need. And while it's bothered me, I've never considered talking to them about it or standing up for myself.

Confronting Rosalie felt good and was empowering. In my opinion, I'd been clear about my expectations and assertive in my delivery. I won't put myself out trying to appease her or feel guilty if she chooses to ignore my words. Maybe I should try the same approach with my parents.

It might be a good idea to leave out the name-calling and 'stick in the ass' parts, though.

Shortly after I rejoin my group, it's time to sing to the birthday girl, and cake is served. The party lasts another half hour, and then parents arrive to collect their children. Alice and Rosalie's kids stay in the pool while the rest of the family cleans up.

Rosalie is conspicuously absent when Edward, my parents, and I say our goodbyes. No one mentions her, however, and I am more than happy to banish her from my mind. It's my last night with Mom; she'll be leaving for the airport in the morning. Dad wisely decided to stay at a hotel, and Edward will sleep at his apartment for the first time since returning home. The alone time with Mom gives me the perfect opportunity to have a heart-to-heart.

She listens to me patiently as I explain why I would have preferred knowing ahead of time about her arrival. I say that I'd hoped to see her during my time in Maryland. She asks why I didn't tell her that before, and I admit that I didn't want to be disappointed if she didn't follow through. She acknowledges her unreliable nature and promises to try harder in the future, as long as I try to be more open with her.

All-in-all, our discussion is positive, and I am misty-eyed the next morning when she climbs into her rental car. Although her visit was sorely mistimed, I'm glad she came and was also able to meet Edward. Perhaps he and I will make a trip out to Colorado at some point.

I try to have a similar conversation with Dad before he leaves, but it doesn't go over quite as well. In fact, it could almost be classified as a disaster. I attempt to explain that I don't respond well to the pressure he's always placed on me and that I wish he could accept me for the person I am.

He does nod at my words, but the frown on his face tells me he's holding back from saying what he truly feels.

"What is it, Dad?" I ask, trying to rein in my own frustration. "This doesn't work unless you're honest."

He stares at me and then blows out a sigh. "I can be honest, but you're not going to like it."

"Just tell me."

"Well, truth is, I think you're screwing up your life. You've had the best schooling and the best opportunities, but instead of making something of yourself, instead of fulfilling your enormous potential, you took an insignificant position in a small company. And when you weren't even happy there, you simply gave up and used this eating thing as an excuse to avoid facing reality."

"You think my bulimia is an excuse?" I ask, incredulous.

"Life isn't easy, Bells. Work isn't always fun, and happiness isn't a right." He leans forward in his chair as the volume of his voice increases. "People these days, they don't take responsibility. They blame everything else, including all these mental issues like 'depression' and 'autism.' They ask for drugs instead of working hard to solve their problems. It just...disgusts me."

"I...I disgust you?"

"No, of course not. You're not...well, I mean...you just..."

"I disappoint you," I say quietly.

"Bells..."

"No, it's fine..." I shake my head and then take a deep breath to center myself before looking him straight in the eyes. "It's too bad that you're disappointed in me, but that's your problem. I'm not going to pretend like it doesn't hurt, because is does—a lot. It hurts that you think I would ever use serious mental conditions as reasons to shirk responsibility or make my life easier." I bark out a dry laugh. "Trust me, there's nothing _easy_ about what I've been going through. I have professionally diagnosed disorders. I don't use them as excuses, but on the other hand, I'm no longer going to downplay the significant effects they have on me.

"And as for my life choices, well, that's pretty much it, isn't it? They're _my_ choices. Not yours, not Mom's...hell, not even Edward's. Yes, I was extremely fortunate to have been born with potential for academic achievements, but I refuse to sacrifice my health, my sanity, or my desire to exist to satisfy the expectations of other people...even if one of those people is you."

Dad doesn't say anything in response. We stare at each other for several long moments, and then he looks away.

I realize now that he might not ever change his thinking. Like I told him, it pains my heart that he can't accept who I am and what I want out of life, but I'm going to try my hardest not to let his point of view influence mine. Our relationship may never be the same, but if it means I'm a happier person because of it, that's okay.

And even better, I think I'm going to be okay, too.

* * *

**One more chapter and then an epilogue! Love you all so much!**


	36. Chapter 36 - Whos There

**Chapter 36 - Who's There?**

* * *

"And look, there's a TBM-3E Avenger!"

Edward's breath trails behind him in wisps of white as he hurries across the _USS Intrepid_'s hangar deck. I follow at a slightly less enthusiastic pace.

"It was put into service in the early 1940s. These planes were used a lot in World War II." He points to a clear dome behind the cockpit. "See that? It's a ball turret with a .50 caliber machine gun, sort of like what Han and Luke use on the Millennium Falcon. This variant of the Avenger could also carry two .50 cals on its wings, up to 2,000 pounds of…"

Edward continues listing armament of the Avenger, but my mind stops registering the individual words. Instead, I'm nodding absently as I take in the movement of his sharp jaw and slightly chapped lips. My eyes then roam over the wind-swept mess on top of his head, the bronze locks having grown out considerably in the five months he's been home from deployment. I love the longer length. It gives me something to latch onto during those times when we're…

"…and that protrusion on fuselage hides the warp core, which as you know, provides the energy required for faster-than-light space travel and uses dilithium crystals to—"

"What?" My face scrunches up in confusion as I register what he's saying.

Edward grins, his eyes full of merriment. He reaches out a gloved hand to pull me close.

"Am I boring you, my dear?"

"No!" I protest quickly. "Of course not. I just zoned out for a minute thinking about, um, Christmas gifts for Anna and Isaac."

"I see." He raises an eyebrow but apparently decides to let me off the hook. "Well, how about if we hit up FAO Schwarz before going back to the hotel room? Maybe you can get some ideas there."

"My boyfriend is a genius," I proclaim, standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss against his mouth. I begin to lower my heels, but Edward wraps his arms around my body to hold me in place.

"Guess what?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. "I love you."

My heart swells with happiness, as it does any time I hear him say those words. "I love you, too. So much."

We share a slightly longer but still public-appropriate kiss, and then he begins leading me to one of the stairwells leading out of the aircraft carrier's hangar bay. I tug on his hand to slow his advance.

"We don't have to leave right now. You haven't showed me the other two planes yet."

"Hmm, good point. I know you were _so_ looking forward to that," he teases.

"I was!" I reply, trying not to cringe at how unconvincing I sound. "I think all this Navy stuff is really…interesting."

"Uh-huh, and Isaac always tells the truth about not eating all the chocolate chip cookies, even when his face is covered with brown smudges." Edward laughs and shakes his head. "It's totally fine that you're not into ships and planes. You don't have to like the things I do. Hell, my eyes get that same glazed-over look—you know, the one yours had a few minutes ago—whenever you start going on about your computer stuff. Javascript SpiderMonkeys, lisping pearls, break sentences…it all goes in one ear and right out the other."

I roll my eyes. "LISP and Perl are programming languages, C++ break _statements_ are commands used to exit loops and…oh jeez, you are _such_ an asswipe."

Channeling my inner preschooler, I stick out my tongue at his loud fake snoring and stomp off in mock indignation. Edward lunges forward to tickle my sides, and after I twist one of his nipples like the mature 31-year-old that I am, we depart the hangar bay, laughing like fools.

o-O-0-O-o

I stand in front of the huge display of Legos, but all I see is a blur of color. I'm supposed to be scouting out Star Wars sets for Isaac while Edward is in the arts and crafts section, but my head is firmly stuck in the past—about thirty minutes ago, to be a little more precise. I replay the scene over and over to make sure I'm not reading too much into the situation.

Edward and I had been talking about everything and nothing as we braved the winter chill on the long trek from the _USS Intrepid_ pier to FAO Schwarz. He had asked if I wanted to hail a cab, though he seemed oddly relieved when I chose to walk. I hadn't noticed that he'd led me onto 47th street until he slowed to a stop in front of a store window.

"Let me guess," he said, squeezing my waist playfully, "you're a platinum girl."

"Huh?" My eyes widened when I looked at the display in the window. A number of sparkly pieces of jewelry were arranged atop satiny material. I glanced around us to discover that nearly every business in the vicinity had a similarly-themed storefront.

Edward had brought me to New York City's Diamond District.

Naturally, my heart began to gallop in my chest. To me, talk about diamond jewelry equals talk about engagement rings, which obviously infers a specific kind of commitment. Although words like "always" and "forever" peppered our everyday conversation, we had yet to discuss the one that started with M.

Of course I want it. With Edward, I want everything, even if I'm not sure I should be allowed to have it. Yes, I've been doing rather well managing my bulimia so far—only a handful of episodes since Edward returned. Overall, my mood has been stellar, but then, I also realize that I haven't had to face any overly stressful situations.

I _am_ becoming concerned about my work situation. In addition to watching Alice's children after school, I've taken on a few programming contract jobs in response to personal requests from previous business acquaintances, but there's been no decision made on long-term employment. And although I'm far from being in extremis regarding my financial situation, I do feel an internal pressure to resolve the issue...and not just to make rent each month. In my mind, Edward deserves to marry someone more than a directionless, unemployed woman with genetically unfavorable reproductive potential. He deserves the best, someone special and undamaged. I have far too many major strikes against me to be considered future wife material for _him_.

And yet…when Edward casually solicited my opinion about the varying styles of rings we saw in the display windows, I couldn't stop the mad dancing of butterflies in my stomach. He didn't give a reason for his line of questioning; he just hummed and nodded—rather smugly, in my opinion—when I told him my preferences. I didn't want to seem presumptuous by asking, but his motive is all I've been able to think about since then. Could he really be considering a proposal? If so, when would he—

"Bella?"

The soft, familiar voice causes instant waves of both nostalgia and fear to ripple down my spine. Keeping my movements cautiously deliberate, I turn toward the man who used to know me so well.

"Jake."

He's sporting a crisp gray business suit that is perfectly fitted to his muscular frame. Tucked under his arm is a radio-controlled car in a box—probably for one of his nephews. The bright smile he gives me is charmingly easy, and although I know I shouldn't, I take a small step closer. It's all the invitation he needs to walk down the aisle and pull me into a quick hug.

The cologne he wears is the same as it was before, and I have to consciously stop myself from filling my lungs with the scent. Like an Angler fish lurking in the depths, Jake never had a problem luring me in until it was too late to see the dangerous jaws behind the dazzling light.

But I should know better by now. I don't need his attention to sustain a barely-there sense of self-worth. Over the past year, I've been learning to value myself more…haven't I? With a contemplative frown, I recall the thoughts I just entertained about my suitability as a spouse. They weren't at all indicative of stronger self-esteem.

"So, what are you doing in New York?" Jake asks, disrupting my mental musings once more.

I take a conspicuous step back while answering. "Just visiting. I'm here with my—"

"Hold on a sec, Bella," he says, closing the distance between us again. "Before you say another word, I have to apologize about…you know…the last time I saw you. I wasn't quite, um, in my right mind then."

I cross my arms and level a hard look at him. "Yeah, well, you scared the hell out of me, and I wasn't just worried about myself. You were holding a knife over your wrist, for God's sake! Have you talked to a professional about what happened?"

"I didn't have much of a choice," he states matter-of-factly. "I saw a therapist—still seeing him, actually. Yes, I know I've got issues with jealousy and anger, but I'm working hard to deal with them."

"That's great," I say honestly. "It's impossible to find happiness with such negative emotions pressing down on you all the time."

"Yeah, it is." He tilts his head and gives me a tender smile. "And what about you? Are you happy?"

"More than I've ever been."

The statement doesn't require thought on my part. It is the simple truth.

"Hmm, good." He pauses for a moment, and then something changes in his expression. "So I guess work's going well, then, huh? Have they promoted you to a bigger office or did you skip to taking over as the CEO?" He chuckles loudly and nudges my arm with his elbow.

I ignore a pang of shame and stand up taller. "Actually, I'm not working in computers at the moment. I've been thinking about changing fields—or at least leaving the business side of programming and trying to teach it, instead."

Jake's mouth falls open a little as he stares. "You're joking, right? You can't seriously be considering walking away from such a promising career. That's just…just…crazy!"

"Then I guess it's a good thing my life choices won't affect you in any way," I snap. "And now if you'll excuse me, I really need to be—"

"Bella, wait!" He reaches out to take my hand, but I snatch it away before he can make contact.

"I'm done talking to you, Jake. It was, uh, _interesting_ seeing you again, but I'm going now." Gritting my teeth, I turn my back on him and begin walking the opposite way down the aisle.

"Come on, don't be like that! I'm really sorry if I offended you…you know I didn't mean to." Jake catches up to me and matches my pace. "Can I apologize by taking you out to coffee—or maybe dinner?"

"I don't think my _boyfriend_ would appreciate that," I say in the most falsely polite voice I can manage. "Now, if you would please get the fuck away from me, I won't have to call the cops." I continue walking without bothering to look in his direction.

"You have a boyfriend now?" His strides falter for a moment, and then he's right back at my side. "Well, if your relationship is secure enough, it shouldn't matter if you go out for a simple cup of coffee with a friend. Come on, B, for old times' sake. Do you still like vanilla lattes?"

I don't waste any more breath on him as I approach the arts and crafts section of the store. My eyes scan the area for Edward, but I can't locate him.

"Bella, baby, please…" Jake puts a hand on my shoulder and spins me toward him. "Give me another chance. We used to be so good together—don't you remember?"

I try to jerk away, but his grip is too strong. Channeling my rapidly mounting anger, I tense my muscles in preparation for a kick. But before I can swing my foot forward, a tall figure wearing a furious expression rushes toward Jake and shoves him away from me.

"If I ever catch you laying a hand on her again, you will regret it," Edward seethes as positions himself in between me and Jake.

I stare at Edward's back in shock. In the ten months since we first met, I've never heard such a menacing tone in his voice. I find the sound compelling, but it's impossible to consider such things now. Jake's eyes flash dangerously, and I recognize the conviction in them. He's going to attack.

"Look out!" I cry, just as Jake leaps forward.

At first, it seems Edward isn't going to react. I don't understand why he's remaining motionless in Jake's path, but I can't stand by and watch him get hurt without acting. A surge of adrenaline rushes through me as I prepare to throw myself at my charging ex-boyfriend. But at the last possible second, in a movement to quick to discern fully, Edward takes hold of Jake, shifts slightly to the side, and flips his attacker over his hip. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I gasp at the sight of Edward restraining Jake's arms as he kneels on the captive man's back.

"Bella, could you make sure security is on its way?" Edward calmly asks.

Wide-eyed in awe, I give him a quick nod of assent and hurry off to fulfill his request.

o-O-0-O-o

"Damn," Edward pants, letting his arm fall over his closed eyes. "Are there any more psycho ex-boyfriends out there that I should know about? Because if there are, I'm sending out engraved invitations for them to come here and make a play for you."

"I'm sorry to say Jake's the only one." My breathy voice is equally labored. "It's such a shame, too, because you were so hot when you went all caveman-ninja warrior on his ass." I let my sweaty body slide from atop his and fall onto my back beside him. "That level of amazingly sexy protectiveness deserved the best reward I could come up with."

"Mm, well, that reward had its own level of amazing."

Sated and content, we lie on the hotel bed for a while, quietly lost in our own thoughts but still sharing a connection through our entwined hands.

"You know that the only reward I'll ever need is being with you, right?" Edward murmurs eventually, his voice gravelly from disuse.

I turn onto my side and press my lips against his shoulder in a reverent kiss. I can't believe how fortunate I am to have this man in my life. He is everything I ever thought I wanted in a partner and more. It's difficult for me to believe I once imagined anyone else could be right for me.

Especially a person like Jake.

I regret that I allowed him a moment of opportunity to attempt his advances earlier today. Although very ashamed to admit this, I think I had been afraid to sever my connection with him. In the desolate, wordless recesses of my mind, he was held as a kind of contingency plan—a possible means to avoid being alone in life if my relationship with Edward should fail. In fact, I almost expected it to, whether caused by a realization on his part of my inferiority or by my own act of preemptive sabotage.

If I want any sort of future with Edward, such damaging insecurity must not rule my thoughts or actions. Given my disorders, I know that I am especially susceptible, and overcoming it will probably always present some sort of challenge. But I can't let it tear me away from him like it did before…I _won't_ let it.

And so, I must trust that Edward's words are true when he speaks of his feelings for me. I must accept that he loves me regardless of my flaws—real or perceived. I must believe that I _am_ good enough to move forward with him, even as a wife.

"What are you thinking so hard about, hmm?" The most important person in my world reaches an arm across his body to hitch my leg over his thigh.

"You…us," I answer truthfully. My fingers play in the light sprinkling of hair across his chest.

"Oh, then by all means, carry on."

I marvel at the quiet but playful confidence in his voice. Had our lines been reversed—had he proclaimed to have been thinking about me and our relationship—I would have worried about the nature of his contemplation. But Edward has faith in my feelings for him. He feels secure about the status of our relationship.

It's time I shed my inhibitions and did the same. I'm ready.

With a rush of dichotomously calm, yet excited resolution, I push my body up to straddle Edward's hips.

"Well, hello," he drawls, an impish grin stretching across his lips. His hands begin to slide up my thighs, but I gently halt their progress.

"Knock, knock."

His eyebrows rise in bemusement, but he plays along without hesitation.

"Who's there?"

"Mary."

"Mary who?"

I take his hands in mine and stare into those clear, sea green eyes that I've come to know so intimately.

"Marry _me_."

Edward's jaw slackens as he blinks in astonishment. Then, before I have a chance to worry about his reaction, he quickly places me on the mattress and hurries the short distance to the closet to pull out his heavy winter jacket. Silent but smiling, he repositions himself into a seated position against the headboard with me on his outstretched legs.

When he takes one of my hands and brings it to his lips for a gentle kiss, I glance up to find sparkling eyes belying mirth behind an accusing expression.

"You stole my joke," he admonishes, then sighs dramatically. "It seems the student has become the master."

"What do you mean _your joke_?" I ask in confusion. "You've never…" My sentence trails off as my heart rate increases. I consider the subject matter of said joke. Does he mean…had he been planning to...?

Edward has arranged his lips into an adorable pout. "You know how I wanted to go ice skating at the Rockefeller Center after dinner? Yeah. I had a whole lineup of corny jokes, and _that_ one was all set to be the showstopper." He shakes his head in mock dismay. "I even had props to go along with my comedy sketch...see?"

Out of his inside jacket pocket comes a small square jewelry box, and when he opens it, I see it. The ring. An engagement ring.

Edward reaches out a hand to caress my cheek.

"So the answer is yes, Bella. I would be honored to marry you. Nothing would make me happier."

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**Just an epi to go!**

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**ICYMI - I'm writing a flash-esque fic called The Fence. I'd love for you to check it out, but only if you're okay with ANGST!**

**Also, I have not forgotten about A Horse of a Different Color. I plan to roll out a chapter after this fic concludes. Thanks so much!**


	37. Chapter 37 - Epilogue

**Chapter 37 - Epilogue**

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"She's just so…_beautiful_."

I run the back of my fingers over the soft cheek and hug the little girl closer. Edward smiles as I take a deep sniff of her hair.

"What? She's got that new baby smell," I grumble playfully. "Leave me alone."

He does the opposite and takes a step closer. "You've had her long enough. Hand her over, woman."

I sigh as I carefully place the swaddled bundle in his waiting arms. My own feel empty now. At least I get the pleasure of watching a grown man turn into a puddle of goo when Julia opens her tiny mouth in a yawn.

"So, Momma, how're you holding up?"

Jessica shifts gingerly in the hospital bed before answering my question. "Well, I'm feeling better than I was yesterday at this time," she replies with a pained grin. "Transitional labor really, _really_ sucks."

I nod at her comment, even though I have no firsthand experience of the phenomenon. I wonder if I ever will. Jessica studies my face as if she knows what I'm thinking.

"So, what about you and Edward?" she asks in a lowered voice. "Any plans to make your own brood of little Cullens?"

I glance at my husband, who's talking with Sandra, the proud grandmother, as Julia sleeps in his arms.

"We've discussed it," I murmur. "I'm still on the fence though. You know why."

"Oh, right. Because you're 'damaged.'" Jessica's eyes flash with ire. "Well, I guess that means I am, too. You think I was wrong to keep Julia?"

"No! Of course not," I protest. "Besides, your situation is different. If I tried to have children, I'd be intentionally dooming them to a life of mental torture."

"Oh, I see. Julia's okay with you because she was an accident. But if I'd made a conscious decision to have kids, _then_ I'd be a sadistic monster?"

"I…no, that's not what I…come on, Jess, you know I'm not saying that."

But when she pins me down with a pointed stare, I admit to myself I'd been thinking exactly that about my own situation.

As I told Jessica, Edward and I have talked about starting a family. He doesn't hide the fact that he dearly wants children, but he's understanding enough not to pressure me. He knew before we got married last year that I was undecided about the subject. He'll accept my choice not to have biological children without complaint.

But for me, it's not a matter of if I want to get pregnant—I do, very much. I truly want to have the unique experience of carrying and raising a child. No, the question is whether I _should_. I can list numerous arguments against the decision. On the other hand, the only reason for bringing a new person into the world—one who might be affected with the same soul-sucking depression as mine—is pure selfish desire.

"When you think about it, that's true of anyone who wants children," Edward had countered. "Unlike in the days of Shakespeare, the world does not need to be peopled." He'd also pointed out that all parents risk passing on undesirable genes and that even two perfectly "normal" people could produce a serial killer.

This doesn't make me feel better.

"It's not strange to feel that way, you know," Jessica says, bringing my attention back on her. "I'm pretty sure it's in the job description of a parent to worry about anything and everything when it comes to their kids. People with genetically-linked disorders have their own set of concerns. But you and me—we also have an advantage that our parents didn't. We know about our conditions and have a lot of experience coping with them. We can recognize the signs and will be able to help our kids from the beginning. Their symptoms might not be as bad because of it. And of course, it might not ever become an issue at all." She smiles at her sleeping newborn. "You never know."

Edward and I spend a little more time cooing over Julia and chatting with the two adults before we head back to our hotel room. It's on the early side to turn in for the night, so we sit in bed and surf through TV channels. Neither of us finds anything interesting, so Edward pulls up the Wall Street Journal on his laptop while I respond to a few emails on mine.

"Any last-minute pleas for an extension?" he asks, skimming through an article on his screen.

I snort in a rather unattractive way. "There'd better not be. I've given those kids more than enough time to finish up their projects," I say of my Advanced Algorithms students. "The only excuse I'll accept is death or dismemberment."

"Well, alrighty then," Edward laughs, giving me a little jiggle via our entwined legs. "It's a good thing I remembered to take out the trash before we left—I wouldn't want to be on your bad side."

He returns his attention to his laptop, and I attempt to focus on my own task. However, I find myself staring absently at my inbox as my mind wanders back to the conversation I had with Jessica.

I've come such a long way since those days at CED, and for the most part, I've made peace with who I am. But thinking about having children dredges up the remaining sediment of my insecurity and brings it to the surface. It's such a monumental decision, and I'm terrified of making a mistake.

"You're obsessing again, aren't you?"

The look I give Edward in response is a cross between sheepish grin and pained scowl. He sets his laptop on the bedside table and turns his body to face me.

"I know, I know. It's like asking the sun not to shine," he says lightly, taking one of my hands in his. "Is there any way I can help?"

"Um, tell me what to do?"

I'm joking, of course…for the most part.

Edward hears the desperation in my voice. He moves my laptop aside and lays us both down on the bed.

"Well, given that you know I support you no matter what, let's pretend for a moment. It's tomorrow morning, and we're about to visit Jess one last time before flying home. But—oh no!—you suddenly feel nauseated and run to the bathroom. Then it occurs to that your period is late. I rush out to get a test, and three minutes after peeing on the stick: surprise! We're having a baby. What's your first reaction?"

I literally have to force the corners of my lips down from the goofy smile they're forming. I can see in my head the scenario that Edward described, and I'm filled with both happiness and longing.

He doesn't wait for me to speak. "That's what I figured," he says, hiding his own grin. "Okay, shelve that thought for a minute. Now we're at a fertility clinic. We've been trying for months without success. The doc walks in, claps me on the back, and says, 'Sorry, buddy, you're shooting blanks.' How do you feel?"

My jaw drops. "Are you kidding me?"

"What—does that not work for you?" He shrugs. "Fine, the doc walks in, claps _you_ on the back, and says, 'sorry, lady, you're as barren as the Sahara Desert. No babies for—'"

"Edward! Really, I get the picture!" I huff. I have half a notion to throw a pillow at him, but he looks so damned adorable with those green eyes full of mischief. I level a glare at him, instead.

He's not at all deterred. "And?" he presses me. "How do you imagine you'd feel?"

I don't have to imagine anything. As soon as the shock factor wears off, a heavy tide of loss tries to pull me under. I'm mourning something I never had.

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry…c'mere."

I hadn't even realized I was crying. Edward wraps his arms around me and holds me close while I sniffle into his shirt.

"I didn't mean to make you upset," he murmurs. "I just thought that if you put yourself in each situation and considered your gut reactions, you might—"

"Let's do it," I say, pulling back suddenly and looking him in the eyes. "Let's try for a baby."

"Really? Like, right now?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

I don't hesitate in whipping off my top as I flash him a grin. "Sure. I mean, it'll just be practice since I'm not due for another shot until…"

My words trail away as I concentrate on the math. Meanwhile, Edward gapes at me with incredulity.

"Are you sure…like _really_ sure? You know I'm all for it, but you did just walk out of a maternity ward. All those raging hormones…the term 'baby fever' had to come from somewhere. I'm fairly certain the condition is contagious."

I'm not paying attention to what he's saying. I'm too busy trying to contain a mounting excitement over a possibility that would negate any further hypothetical discussion.

"When did you say you were due for another shot?" he continues. "Maybe we should wait a month or two before trying so that the idea can stew for a bit. You know, really get used to the thought of being parents. Of course, I'm always down for some practicing. No, actually, I'm _up_ for it." He reaches for the hem of his shirt in eager anticipation.

"Stop trying to take your clothes off," I say, staring at the ceiling in a daze.

"Oh…uh, did you change your mind?"

I sit up in bed and pull him with me. My mouth stretches into a careful smile.

"Now listen, don't your hopes up too much, okay? This is highly unlikely, but…I think we need to take a trip to the drugstore."

o-O-0-O-o

_April 27, 2019_

_Dearest little Emily,_

_It's hard for me to believe that you'll be a year old tomorrow. It seems like it wasn't long ago that you were still moving around inside me, but at the same time, I feel that I've known you forever. I can't imagine my life without you._

_It's been quite the busy year for both of us, hasn't it? You went from being a quiet little newborn in the hospital to an always active, extremely enthusiastic, and very vocal toddler who loves to climb on everything and race around the house as fast as you can. Yet I've never met anyone as loving—you can even get your grumpy Aunt Rosalie to smile and laugh._

_I see in you so much of both me and your daddy. My dark brown hair, his sea green eyes, my nose, his impish grin. I have no idea where your limitless energy came from, though. Maybe Nana Renee or whatever genes Uncle Emmett got._

_Like me, you can be overly sensitive at times, which is why I'm so glad I decided to cut back my teaching to just one online class a semester. I'm sure you would've gotten used to daycare, but I'm much happier being home with you. Plus, I can watch your cousins again, something that everyone's happy about. Well, Isaac's not thrilled when you try to make his Lego starships fly by launching them across the room, but he really does need to stop leaving them all over the place. Sometimes I feel like throwing them, too, especially when I step on the single pieces. __Those things are safety hazards._

_It's amazing how much I've changed since finding out about you. The moment my pregnancy was confirmed, the world looked different. It was no longer just about me. I was responsible for another life, a helpless one, and in order to make sure you were healthy, I had to be as well._

_Making the decision to stop my medication during those eight months wasn't difficult, but adjusting to the loss of their assistance was. Thankfully, I'd built up a foundation of non-medicinal coping mechanisms and had plenty of love and support to get me through it. Your daddy was—as he is and always has been—my greatest source of strength. I can't count the number of ways he's been there for me. He listens patiently to my fears, holds me close when I need comfort, and brings me chocolate when I need, well, chocolate. I'm sure you know how wonderful he is, as he does the same things for you…especially the chocolate part. I wonder if that's why you're always so energetic…_

_Nana Renee, Grandma Esme, Aunt Alice and Uncle Jasper, Uncle Emmett and even Aunt Rosalie—they all gave me encouragement in spades. You might find this hard to believe now, but Aunt Rose didn't like your mommy once upon a time. She slowly warmed up to me when your daddy and I got married, and once she found out I was having you, she realized it was time to move beyond events of the past. _

_See? Even before you were born, you were making the world a better place._

_No one knows what the future holds, of course, but I'm certain about a few things. Our family will have a lot of good times, as well as some that are difficult, some sad. There will be challenges to overcome and successes to celebrate. I hope that you don't face any of the problems with depression or eating disorders like I did, but if you do, your family will always be there for you. _I_ will always be there for you. I'm proof that one _can_ fight back against these lifelong disorders. It's not an easy burden to carry, but it can be done. _

_And truthfully, my struggles have given me a depth of character that I might not have had otherwise. I know myself well—who I am, my weaknesses, my many strengths. I think I'm a better person and a better mother because of it._

_But in the end, that's not the most important thing. You and your daddy are in my life now, and I've never felt more fortunate. If changing a single aspect of my past meant not having you, I wouldn't do it. In fact, I'd go through every moment of pain and uncertainty all over again to make sure that tomorrow I can celebrate your first birthday with you and all the loved ones in our lives._

_I don't know if there's some master plan for all of us—if the anguish I experienced was necessary so that I could have all this, so that I could appreciate these moments for the precious gifts that they are. _

_I'm not sure, but if so, it was all worth it._

_Because after years and years, I'm finally happy._

_I've finally found peace._

_o-O-The End-O-o-_

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**Phew.**

**First of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH to Mina Rivera for the PERFECT banner. It captured the very essence of this fic.**

**As you can probably imagine, this was a difficult one for me to write, for many reasons. I can't properly say how much I cherish the amazing feedback I've gotten over the course of this story. From those who unfortunately can identify with the subject matter to those who have a new understanding of the hell that is depression and eating disorders, all your comments meant a lot to me, and I appreciate each one.**

**Thanks from the bottom of my heart,**

**winterhorses xxoo**


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